


The One that Got Away

by sleepytime



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Everyone is 10 years older, Like real slow, M/M, Market! AU, Slow Burn, i think there is angst, wordy sentences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 23:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 51,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13351962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepytime/pseuds/sleepytime
Summary: Jihoon is stuck running a food stall with his father at Gwangjang Market. Woojin is the owner of the neighbouring stall who he hates less and less as time gone by.





	1. Year 2008

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to bombard me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sleepyytimee) (even though I guess the comment section shares the same function hahahaha).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to make things clear: the story takes place mostly in Gwangjang Market, a traditional street market in Seoul. Jihoon runs a stall that sells kimbap (i.e. rice rolls)
> 
> Will beta soon. XOXO.

It is 8 a.m. in the morning.

Jihoon applies the break on his pickup lorry, and it skids to a stop in front of Gwangjang Market.

He puts on his cotton gloves before getting off from his seat, jogging over to open the door of the other side.

“Get up. We’re like 15 minutes behind schedule,” He nudges his dad, who responds hazily with a hum without opening his eyes.

There is no time to spare. Jihoon rushes to the trunk of his lorry and starts unloading his cargoes —  bags of rice, boxes of carrots, turnips and cucumbers, packets of seaweed and sesame, and all other ingredients necessary for making kimbap. Hardly does he notice that his father has closed the door again for a snooze.

Few minutes are left for him to carry all of these back to their stall, not to mention the time needed thereafter to cook, and present the food in an aesthetically pleasant manner before the first wave of local customers turns up at around 9 a.m.

Certainly, not all stalls open that early, especially when Gwangjang Market is normally the most crowded in the late afternoon. Yet,  to him, the morning hours is always the time with the least competition.

He, nor his father, has the luxury to give up any chances of earning one more penny.

“AY! GET UP!” Jihoon yells, trying to wake his father up again. He totters towards to their food stall with boxes of bulky food produce in his arms, only to be further irritated by what he sees.

A mountain of trash has amassed at the corner of his food stall; large empty styrofoam boxes, presumably used for storing food produce, are piled by the counter of Jihoon’s stall.  It is the third consecutive day he is welcomed by this unsightly scene, and he knows exactly who is the culprit behind.

That red-haired bastard.

_Park Woojin_.

Jihoon roams to his stall and, with a loud bang, slams all the boxes from his hands onto the floor. With obvious rage, he sweeps the heap of trash with his feet towards Woojin’s stall, opposite to his.

“Is it better if we carry them to the trash collection point outside?” Jihoon’s dad asks from behind after releasing a big yawn.

“I don't see the problem of throwing them back to where they come from,” Jihoon coldly replies.

He starts tossing the styrofoam boxes to the stall opposite to him one by one, deliberately with a poor aim.

* * *

 

The first wave of customers arrives as soon as the market opens, just as Jihoon expects.  The place is soon teemed with people ceaselessly thronging the passages between the stalls for the next hour. Most of them are salarymen who want to grab food before work.

Jihoon checks the time after a gush of customers has left. It’s 10 a.m. He is about to take off his apron for a toilet break, and there he sees, from afar, Park Woojin staring at him with lowered eyebrows.

The red-haired man struts towards Jihoon’s stall with both of his hands shoved in his pockets. It is no surprise to Jihoon that Woojin seems to have known what happened. Provided that all other stall owners here have met each other for long, someone here must have given a tip-off.

Sensing trouble, Jihoon’s father immediately hobbles towards the red-haired man and pats on his shoulder, trying to soothe the situation.  “Uh…, haha, sorry,” he starts with a sheepish smile, “Jihoon and I can help throw them away…”

Woojin shakes off the hand on his shoulder and jeers at Jihoon with his chin lifted upwards, “kiddo, my stall is NOT the dumpster.”

“Neither is mine,” Jihoon hisses as he slices carrots with his knife, ignoring Woojin’s gaze.

“Your stall was where we pile trash before you were here, I’m just adhering to the tradition.”

“Then it’s a **bullshit** tradition,” Jihoon confronts, staring at the latter in his eyes, “you have hands, move your fucking trash to the collection point by yourself. This area is mine now.”

Woojin slams his fist on the counter before he slowly utters, “I beg your fucking pardon?”

Customers nearby start to converge by the stall to view the altercation. Knowing  that the situation may spiral out of control, Jihoon’s dad emerges from the back again and appeases softy, “sorry sorry sorry. It’s our fault. I’m just so so so sorry.”

“I said,” Jihoon points his finger at Woojin, disregarding his father, “this area is mine. Don’t. Mess. It. Up,”

This only prompts Woojin to grabs him by his collar, “Say it again?”

“Just FUCK OFF!” Jihoon points at Woojin with his knife.

“Jihoon are you nuts? Put down your knife!” Jihoon’s father separates the two by pushing them apart, “sorry sorry sorry, my son is a bit hot-headed.”

“ **SORRY**? Who’s messing with whom now?" yells Woojin, grabbing his own knife from his counter and points it at Jihoon. "For my whole life here no one here ever holds me at knifepoint! ”

The two remain holding their knifes at each other's necks, and all spectators freeze. Woojin swears he can see fire inside Jihoon's pupils, but that only adds to his own wrath.

Everyone can feel that they are on the verge of a brawl, until a loud cough is heard from behind.  Woojin and Jihoon turn their heads, and there they see a man of a short statute. The middle-aged man clasps his arm behind his body as he takes large strides towards the two, drawing a commanding presence among the crowd. A few other young men also follow his steps from behind with equal smugness.

“Uncle Bae, good… good morning,” Jihoon’s father greets.

The mere presence of this male drives the two young men to put down their knives, albeit reluctantly, before they also greet, “Uncle Bae, good morning.”

Other stall owners who come to the scene also follow, “Uncle Bae, good morning.”

Slowly, the man strolls next to Jihoon’s father and declares, “I hope that everyone understands this: whoever messes with Jihoon and his father, is messing with me.”

“Yes,” Jihoon’s father suddenly agrees while he lifts his head, with an aura of triumph surrounding him, “whoever messes with me, is messing with Uncle Bae.”

“But Uncle Bae,” Woojin argues with noticeable defeat, “your _friend_ over there messes with my stall first.”

“ _You_ mess with us first! He…” Jihoon chimes in loudly as he points at Woojin, only to be stopped by Uncle Bae, who extends his arm with his palm facing Jihoon.

“First, Mr. Park is not my friend, but my debtor, a huge one, indeed,” Uncle Bae explains, pointing at Jihoon’s father, who turns away immediately out of shame, “he is working here to pay off the debts with his son. Second, Park Woojin, don’t act like I don’t know you lazy-ass have been dumping trash to my other stalls. That’s not the right way. I can turn a blind eye to that when it’s not rented, but now it is. If you keeping messing with Jihoon and his father, when can I collect my debt the n? Do you want me to increase your rent to set-off that?”

Woojin tightens his lips and puts down his head. There is no way he would argue with the major landlord in the market. He leers at Jihoon, only to find their eyes meet before both of them turn away from each other.

Seeing there are no verbal replies from Woojin, Uncle Bae pats harshly on his chest and reminds, “don’t be an asshole. Just take a few steps and throw your trash outside.” He then turns around and points at Jihoon’s father, “also, you. Repay your instalments on time.”

Jihoon’s father can only nod servilely.

“Jinyoung, come over,” Uncle Bae waves. One of the men originally tailing behind Uncle Bae steps forward before he continues, “I’ll be out of town the next two months, my son, Jinyoung, will come and collect the money, okay?”

“Yes yes yes, I will.”

“Everything’s good now then?” Uncle Bae asks, circulating his gaze on every spectator nearby, “all of you also, throw your trash outside, get it?”

Everyone, most of whom are Uncle Bae’s tenants, nods in unison.

“Good! Meeting dismissed!” Uncle Bae shouts as he waves his arms, turning away towards the exit.

 

* * *

It’s 11:30 p.m., half an hour after the closing time of Gwangjang Market.

Woojin is tying up the garbage bags before he takes a peep of Jihoon’s stall. As he expects, the stall is vacant. He knows Jihoon usually closes his business and leaves at 11:00 p.m. sharp, right after the last wave of customers who visit the market for dinner.

Just as he is about to toss the bag of trash to Jihoon’s stall, a man gently pats on his shoulder and warns, “oh come on, Park Woojin, give him a break.”

It’s Jinyoung.

“Gees, even you are helping him now,” Woojin scowls, letting go of the bag of trash in his hand, “for all the years we grew up in the market together, what’s that for?”

“I’m just being impartial,” Jinyoung counters as he playfully pokes Woojin’s nose with force, “and I know what happened. He may have overreacted, but it’s your fault first.”

”Wow, thanks for being impartial, that’s exactly what I need right now.”

”Tsk, Jihoon is only here to help his dad repay the debts. His dad is an incurable gambling addict who also indulges in whoring as far as I know.”

Woojin quints at Jinyoung with narrowed eyes before he answers, “where do you come across with such information though?”

“ _Duh_ , he is owing my dad money,” Jinyoung rolls his eyes, “I’m just repeating what my dad has told me. Do you feel that you should be, at least, a bit merciful towards Jihoon now?”

“Absolutely not,” Woojin rejects bluntly as he holds up his arm to throw a bag of garbage to Jihoon’s stall.

“Ay! Hold on, hold on,” Jinyoung soothes, snatching the bag from Woojin, “I’ll carry it to the collection point, okay?”

Woojin leans forward and gawks at Jinyoung with a slack jaw, for his best friend is being suspiciously helpful and kind. His friend is usually the more playful and reckless one between them. Jinyoung being thoughtful is almost unheard of in Woojin’s life, except in one situation.

“What,” Jinyoung asks, confused by Woojin’s lack of responses.

“You like him,” Woojin asserts as he crinkles his nose.

“Yeah, so?” Jinyoung’s shrugs his shoulders. 

“Oh _fuck_ , Bae Jinyoung, do you have eyes?” Woojin winces, smacking Jinyoung’s forehead.

“DON’T HIT ME!” Jinyoung bawls, fending off Woojin’s arm, “oh come on, you know what kind of place Gwangjang market is, how rare is it to find someone of our age here? We are in an ageing industry; everyone here is either an ajusshi or an ajumma. And, he is cute, okay? Like, very cute.”

“I beg to differ,” Woojin irks, shaking his head, “gees, no wonder you are goofing around these days.”

“That’s not the only reason, I mean, It’s almost the end of a month, right? I’m here to collect rent from tenants for my dad,” Jinyoung defends with his chin up, “that’s my job."

“What a harsh job it is — to legitimately demand money from people."

Jinyoung is about to hit Woojin with the bag of trash just when both of them hear, by the entrance, crinkling sounds seemingly coming from the wheels of a trolley.

Out of curiosity, Woojin and Jinyoung hide behind one of the pillars near the entrance and peep at the source of the sound. To their surprised, there they find, opposite to the market, Jihoon standing by a hawker trolley with rolls of kimbap on it. A customer is standing by the counter, waiting for Jihoon to pack the food order with aluminium foil.

“Here you go, that would be 2,500 won,” Jihoon says with a diplomatic smile before he hands out the food.

As soon as the customer leaves, Jihoon’s dad appears from a turn with his hand on the waist of a much younger-looking woman. Even from afar, Woojin can confirm that she is the call girl living right next to his flat. 

“Bulgogi Kimbap, two rolls,” Jihoon’s dad requests. He then reaches the blue cash box nearby and takes all the money inside with him, counting the banknotes one by one.

“That’s all the pocket money you have for the week,” Jihoon warns coldly as he wraps the rice rolls with aluminium foil, “I’m not going to reimburse a single penny if you use it all up in love motels. Don’t you try to steal it from my cash box.”

“I will bring her back home then.”

“ _Tsk_ , NO!” Jihoon chastises, handing the kimbap to his father, “how many times have I told you not to bring women home?”

“Then you should pay for enforcing it, that’s your rules,” Jihoon’s father retorts, taking hold of the kimbap rolls before  escorting the call-girl with a smile, “let’s go.”

Silence then ensues between Jinyoung and Woojin who both witness the whole scene, until the younger proposes, “why don’t we go and grab some kimbap?”

“ _Bae Jinyoung_ , I make kimbap rolls, daily, and you have never bought shit from me,” Woojin opposes, “and you are now asking me to buy some more from others, more deplorably, from him?”

Just as Woojin predicts, Jinyoung wilfully ignores him and scurries towards Jihoon’s food cart.

"Jihoon, hello. One Bulgogi Kimbap roll, please," He greets his crush with a ear-to-ear smile.

“Sure."

“You work here after the opening hours?” Jinyoung asks with genuine concern.

“Yeah, quite a lot of people actually wander nearby at late night,” Jihoon explains, “I don’t want to waste the leftover stock, you know, I can’t keep them overnight anyway.”

“You are just… very hard-working and diligent,” Jinyoung compliments with a shy grin.

“I don’t have a choice,” Jihoon snickers, pointing at the colossal metal pot by the trolley, “actually, I got congee too, do you want some?”

“Oh yesyesyes, yes please,” Jinyoung nods fervently, scratching the back of his head.

Seconds of silence follows before Jinyoung diverts the topic and softly whispers, “er…, by the way, about today, umm…, I apologise on behalf of Woojin. I know he is a jerk sometimes, sorry.”

“Well, if he really does think he is at fault, which, by all standards, he is,” Jihoon’s snarls with his tone turning cold, fixating his gaze on filling the styrofoam bowl with congee, “he would’ve come over and say that to me by himself.”

“Er…,” Jinyoung stammers, turning his head left and right, “I… I’m sure he does feel that way, hold on.” He then runs towards Woojin and drags his friend out from hiding behind the pillar.  Reluctantly, Woojin follows his best friend and scuffs towards Jihoon’s stall with confusion on his face, noticing that Jihoon turns his head away immediately.

“What now?” Woojin asks lowly.

“Woojin, I told Jihoon that you are willing to apologise for your reckless behaviour this morning,” Jinyoung declares.

“WHAAAAT?” Woojin shrikes, "WHAT THE FUCK MAN?"

“Yeah, isn’t that what you told me just then?” Jinyoung maintains his act, ignoring that Woojin is scowling at him with his mouth wide open, “I know there are some misunderstandings between you two, but I’m sure, as neighbouring stalls, it’s better to maintain a healthy relationship. In fact, I already apologise on behalf of you, but Jihoon wants to hear it from you, so, Woojin, can you?”

Slowly, Jinyoung twists his head and reciprocates Woojin’s stare with equal intensity, cuing the latter to complete the act.

It is, needless to say, completely against Woojin’s disposition, but he thoroughly understands why Jinyoung stages such a scene — his lovestruck best friend wants to please Jihoon.

Woojin is convinced that Jinyoung will definitely lose face if he refuses to say sorry and runs away, and he is definitely tempted to embarrass his best friend.  Still, after a gulp, he stammers,” yeah..., fine, I’m sorry, okay? Let me go, this is weird.” He flees the scene as quick as he can, leaving Jihoon and Jinyoung by the trolley.

Jihoon soon resumes on slicing more turnips after Woojin’s “apology”. Seconds of silence once again follows, until Jinyoung breaks the ice, “umm…, you live nearby?”

“Yes.” Jihoon confirms as he hands Jinyoung the food ordered.

“Oh, so am I!” Jinyoung giggles, pointing at a building nearby, “feel free to come up and find me for dinner when you have time…, er…, yeah.”

Jihoon forces a stiff smile and utters, “5,000 won please.”

“Ohohoh, yeah, almost forgot, haha,” Jinyoung leaks a nervous laughter as he shoves his hand in his pocket to search of his wallet, “here you go.”

“Thank you.”

“See you tomorrow?,” Jinyoung enthusiastically waves his hand.

“Yeah,” Jihoon answers briefly, taking only a glance at Jinyoung before he focuses on stirring the pot of congee instead.

“Bye bye...,” Jinyoung lingers, trying to seek affirmation from his crush.

And Jihoon only nods his head lightly as a response.

That night, it also happens to be the first time that all the leftover food is sold out. Jihoon folds his hawker trolley and loads it onto his cargo before he peeks at his watch.

To his delight, it is just 3:00 a.m, a lot earlier than he thought. He is supposed to reach the wholesale market for fresh food produce by 7:00 am before he comes back to open the stall. This means he will get 3 full hours of sleep — significantly longer than any others days of the week. With a tender smile, he slacks on the driver seat on his truck and falls asleep soon after.

Little does he know that Woojin, who has fled the scene earlier, re-enters the market and tosses all trash to his stall again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from hiatus (tears of joy). I swear nothing is better than the feeling of having the time to write T.T
> 
> Will update soon, thank you for your tolerance. Feel free to leave a comment. XOXO.


	2. Year 2008 (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break. Will get back to a more frequent update schedule from now on. Will also beta soon. Thank you for your tolerance ^^

Woojin’s eyes almost pop out from his sockets upon what he sees. He remembers so distinctively that he has tossed all the trash to Jihoon’s stall. Yet, it is his stall that is sabotaged by all kinds of rubbish now. An avalanche of food-scrap clumps by the counter, together with disposable utensils scattered on the floor. In fact, he would be convinced if someone told him that a meteorite has crashed right into it.

_Park Jihoon_.

“THE FUCK YOU DID TO MY STALL?” Woojin yells and firmly points at Jihoon with rage.

Other stall owners immediately gather by Jihoon’s stall again, similar to yesterday, trying to grab somevirtual popcorn.

“I did nothing, it’s you,” Jihoon answers coldly.

From how calm Jihoon sounds, Woojin is hesitant to accuse him further, he visibly gulps, “WHAT… WHAT HAVE I DONE?”

“You have the best knowledge about that.”

“I DID NOTHING!”

“Oh come on,” Jinyoung emerges from the back with a shout, “Just let him go, Woojin.”

“FOR WHAT? LOOK!” Woojin roars, pointing at the pile of trash.

“But it’s you who threw your trash to Jihoon’s stall last night first,” Jinyoung slowly counters.

“WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU EVEN ON?”

“I am not on anyone’s side,” Jinyoung stutters, braving the death stare from Woojin. “I…I’m just being impartial. Jihoon is just one of my tenants who has a reasonable expectation to be free from any undesirable interference, just like any other tenants.”

“That’s true though,” one of bystander agrees, to which some other spectators also nod.

Other people’s positive reactions have conferred more-than-enough courage to Jinyoung. With triumph, he pats Jihoon’s shoulder firmly and assures, “Jihoon, you don’t have to be scared by some unreasonable bullies. I, and also everyone here, will fight for a harmonious environment for you.”

“Err…, thanks? But I’m not, in any way, scared,” Jihoon shakes off the hand on his shoulder and, to everyone’s surprise, starts tidying up Woojin’s store, “ honestly, I didn’t throw any trash to your store. It’s not me.”

“It’s me,” Jinyoung admits proudly, placeing both hands on his waist.

“WHAT?” Woojin goes wide-eyed and crosses his arms.

“H…hold on, I don’t get it, Jinyoung,” another bystander chimes in, “why though? If you want to help Jihoon, Just help him clean it up would be good.”

“How would Jihoon know I was the one helping if I just swept everything away?” Jinyoung challenges.

“I would have known if you simply had told me,” Jihoon responds coldly as he ties up the garbage bags, turning himself to Woojin, “and I just want to run my stall… peacefully, please. Let me live.”

“Okay okay okay, everyone,” a middle-aged stall owner cries from behind as he approaches the mountain of trash, clapping his hands to garner attention, “let’s just tidy up the mess together, and get this over with, okay?” 

Almost every spectator obliges and joins Jihoon to clean up the chaos, except Jinyoung, who is crossing his arms with a smug smile, mentally praising himself for doing a brilliant job of pleasing Jihoon — and also Woojin, who simply wants to tear Jinyoung’s smirk off from his face.

He knows there is a need for talk this out with his _trashy_ best friend.

“You come with me now,” Woojin demands, dragging Jinyoung by his ear away from the crowd.

“Huh? Why?”

“You known why,” Woojin replies coldly;  and he does not release his grip until they reach a dead-end alleyway nearby.

-

“BRUH ARE YOU FUCKING POSSESSED?” Woojin roars before he starts jabbing Jinyoung’s forehead with his finger, “what the fuck are you doing, man? Risking our friendship for the sake of a stupid crush?”

“DON’T FRIGGIN’ POKE MY HEAD!” Jinyoung orders, brushing off Woojin’s finger.

“Fuck you for real,” Woojin continues, “You know, I always respect your consistently vile taste in love, even though I despise him as a miserly mean-spirited workaholic. If you just want an opportunity to appeal to that bastard, it’s fine; but can you just give me some heads-up so that I won’t over-react?”

“OKAY OKAY I’m sorry, okay? I did think of giving you heads-up, but I need true reactions from you to make it seem realistic. Your acting is shit,” Jinyoung weakly defends, “I think he buys it though, isn’t it? So it’s worth it.”

“Not even slightly bruh,“ Woojin analyses after he calms down, “Come on, how old are you? This is so _fucking silly;_ and he _loathes_ this place. I don’t think he wants to date anyone from here; and his father is owing your father’s money. Why would he like you?” He’s not going to like you back simply because you treat him well.”

“Sure, bruh,” Jinyoung cannot help but releases a scoff, “I’ll remind you that when you fall in love.”

* * *

Life goes on.

The feud between Woojin and Jihoon seems to have died down after a few months; or, at least, they have reached a stage of “cold war”. Despite maintaining good terms with other stall owners, Jihoon has never had a great interest in building friendship with anyone in the market. Even Woojin notices that Jihoon’s life almost exclusively revolves around running the stall. This sets a sharp contrast with his father, who seems to integrate well by mingling with other stall owners of his age.

What Jihoon really wants, by far, is to settle all the debts for his father and leave the market.

Working at the food stall by day and moonlighting by night selling leftovers surely makes Jihoon feel restless at times, but it helps save up all the necessary dough to repay the debt.

To Jihoon's relief, their business is gradually getting on track after garnering a stable number of customers who frequent their stall. Also, by keeping an eye on his father from squandering all the money on gambling or brothel-visits, he managed to repay the last few loan  instalments on time.

He assures himself this is a good start. At least his plan to leave the market is on schedule; and they are not incurring more interest for late repayments.

Sometimes he questions himself: Why is he the one who suffers when it is his dad who owes money to Uncle Bae? A day-off or two to shake off the frustration sounds delicious; but he figures out that his father is, perhaps unsurprisingly, not reliable at all when it comes to looking after the store on his own.

Still, he is left only with this option when there are mort important things to attend to —  His cousin Sungwoon has set him up for a blind date.

Jihoon is nowsitting by Sungwoon in the latter's car, peeping through the car window at the cafe, where he and his date is scheduled to meet.

“So…, which one is him,” Jihoon asks.

“That one with a brown tie,” Sungwoon points out, “quite cute, right?”

Jihoon scans the cafe interior and locates the man, who happens to be grooming his hair with the help of the reflection on the back of the spoon. 

“Not bad,” Jihoon concedes, “what does he do?”

“Shouldn’t you figure out what’s his name first?” Sungwoon wonders.

“Yeah, that too. Answer both.”

“Name’s Minhyun,” Sungwoon answers, “he works at…uh, computer or information technology-related stuff? …if i remember correctly.”

-

The date starts off as awkward as one can imagine. Jihoon is not someone who will ever be labelled as outgoing; and he can feel that Minhyun shares the same trait. Only clinking sounds are heard from their table as both of them stir their cups of tea with their teaspoons in silence.

Jihoon finally regrets not preparing any conversation starters at all. 

“Umm…,” Jihoon finally utters after stealing a glance at Minhyun, “Is your job busy?”

“Occasionally, yeah,” Minhyun answers with a reassuring smile, “you?”

“Yeah, me too,” Jihoon reciprocates the diplomatic grin, “um…, what are your hobbies?”

“Watching films. You?”

“Same, but I like something else more,” Jihoon puts down his teaspoon, “quite an extravagant hobby actually, for me at least.”

“Which is?” Minhyun inquires as he leans in.

“Sleeping,” Jihoon laughs.

"Must mean your job is busier than mine then,” Minhyun leaks an approving wheeze before he continues, “er…, the Film Festival is coming soon, do you wanna go together?”

Jihoon starts stirring his tea again before he hesitantly nods, “yeah, sure.”

“Great! Um…,” Minhyun’s eyes radiates a sense of surprise for how smooth the invitation goes, “oh, and I almost forgot…” He places a paper box onto the table, untying the ribbon on top, “my company’s new products that will be launched next month, you should have a try. Matcha flavour.”

Confused, Jihoon glances at the paper box and it clearly reads _Paris Baguette —_ the largest bakery chain in Seoul. He makes sure his lips are still curved upwards before he asks, “so…, you work at the Information Technology Department of Paris Baguette?”

“Huh? No,” Minhyun shakes his head, “I work at the Myeongdong branch as a shopkeeper.”

“Um...I see. I'm just curious, does your job involves any elements of information technology?” Jihoon asks further, baffled by how Sungwoon mixes up Minhyun's job, "or computer-related stuff?"

"Well, we are computerising our inventory record if that counts," Minhyun smiles, "the inventory code of the matcha tart in front of you is 009; and the matcha egg roll's code is 023. You should try both. They taste very nice."

"I see," Jihoon knowledges as he darts his eyes at the exit.

* * *

As time gone by, other stall owners seem to be friendlier to Jihoon (than he ever imagines and desires), to the extent that he and his father are both invited to one of the stall owners’ wedding . Jihoon blames this on his father, who never really focuses on work but banters with other stall owners instead.

From the absence of any wedding-themed decorations, Jihoon can safely assume that the newlyweds just want a modest ceremony. In fact, the banquet is conveniently held at the rooftop of the market building.

This is no surprise to him (or any guests for that matter), considering that the couple is at their late 50s. Almost all guests are other stall owners that Jihoon recognises.

Be it lavish or not, Jihoon is not a fan of weddings where he is not close to either the bride or the groom. He dreads sitting by the table for painfully long hours, cheering for people he does not really know. Yet, the more unbearable part of this particular wedding, by far, is sitting right next to Woojin and Jinyoung.

Just as Jihoon is spacing out from the boredom, Jinyoung nudges him, eyeing at the newlyweds, “you know, both of them actually watch me grow up here."

"Oh, wow, for real?” Jihoon squeezes a smile.

“Yeah, his son over there sometimes looks after me and Woojin also back in the day,” Jinyoung continues, pointing at a man sitting by the next table, “Jisung’s like a big brother to us.”

“Oh, so the groom has a son? From his previous wife?” Jihoon’s father suddenly chimes in.

“Yeah, they have four sons actually. Jisung is the youngest. His mother passed away when he was very young, and his dad has to raise them up alone,” Jinyoung adds, “until he meets the bride here in the market a few years ago.”

“But I rarely see Jisung around though?” Jihoon’s dad follows.

“Yeah, he became a paediatrician a few years ago. So he rarely comes back,” Jinyoung supplements.

“I see.”

The newlyweds trot across to their table right after the conversation has ended. Jihoon swears he can smell alcohol from the couple. With vivacity, the groom yells, “Thank you all for coming! You know, I can’t believe I have you all as my friends — and still find love at such an age. I can die a happy man now.”

“Don’t say that,” The bride laughs as she holds the tail of her dress with one of her hands, “touch wood.”

“Actually I am here to announce something,” the groom continues with a unbearably loud volume, “you know, 30 years have flown by since I first started working here. As much as I love this place, my doctor has urged me to to take a rest. My wife and I plan to retire within this year and move to America to stay with my other sons. Jisung will deal with the follow-up matters, so he will be here more often from now on. Please take good care of him.”

Rowdy cheers and thunderous claps from the guests were heard from every corner of the room after the groom's speech; and Jihoon chooses to follow, even though he is not sure if what he has just heard is of a congratulatory nature.

The wedding continues to be as predictable as Jihoon imagines. The couple visits each and every table to propose a toast. Some of the guests have scuttled to the dance floor and waved their bodies with the tempo of the music. Everyone seems to be drunk, or at least, tipsy — except Jihoon, who is sitting by his table alone, staring vacantly into the sky.

“Quite heartwarming, right?” Jinyoung comes over and joins him, eyeing at the newlyweds at one of the tables afar, “you know, they work here, grow old here, and meet their love of their life here. It’s simple and romantic, isn’t it?”

“Errr…,” Jihoon hesitates, “I guess.”

“Their lives tell a tale of my dreams — just a stable homely life here in the Market,” Jinyoung continues with a hint of yearn, turning his head to Jihoon, “with the one I love beside me. It’s the future that I want.”

Jihoon immediately turns away from Jinyoung and takes a glimpse of the newlyweds.

While he is happy for them, he simply cannot share Jinyoung’s sentiment at all. What he absolutely does not want is many more grueling years in the market. Spending the rest of his life with a lover of a similar lower-class standing will be equally nightmarish.

He is only here in the market to pay his father’s debt. Gwangjang Market is never a rendezvous or his second home for him — far from it.

“Cheers?” Jinyoung asks, holding a cup of beer in front of Jihoon.

Jihoon diplomatically takes hold and empties the cup, but he fixates his eyes at the newly-married couple, who both start burping after downing a whole jar of beer with raucous shrieks from the background.

This is exactly the future that he does not want.


	3. Year 2008 (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will beta when I wake up, it's daybreak here now again ^^. Thank you for your tolerance^^

“So…how does the date go?” asks Sungwoon, slacking at the back of Jihoon’s stall.

“Uhh…,” Jihoon stutters as he pours all the turnip slices into a container, “it went smoothly.”

“Did you two confirm a second date then?” Sungwoon further inquires with eager, before he leans over to Jihoon.

“Kind of.” answers Jihoon, shunning his cousin’s gaze.

“What do you mean by kind of?” 

“It just outright means we kinda did,” Jihoon grunts, “ _Argh_ , Ha Sungwoon, you said you are here to help me out and you are now bunking off, asking me irrelevant things.”

“Of course I’m here to help you,” Sungwoon assures, immediately starts rolling kimbaps with a bamboo mat, “the reason I’m asking… is because I have also bought you something useful when you meet him next time — well, potentially useful, at least.”

“Don’t tell me you bought me condoms.”

Sungwoon exhales hard through his nose, “Since when your mind has become so dirty?” He reaches his bag and shoves a gift box to Jihoon’s chest, “Take a look.”

With doubt, Jihoon unwraps the box; and there he sees a necklace with a pink-coloured gemstone at the tip.

“What the fuck?” Jihoon asks with cramped eyebrows.

“You know, rose quartz is one of the most powerful stones for attracting love; it opens your heart centre and restores love and trust,” Sungwoon explains patiently.

“This is some advanced level teenage girl bullshit,” Jihoon retorts, “way beyond those astrology crap that you always bring up.”

“And your boundless negativity is exactly why you need it!” Sungwoon reasons, “it _transforms_ your energy to foster positivity and openness, and prepares you for meeting your soulmate.”

“Whatever, I’m not… completely persuaded by what you have just said.” Jihoon mutters defeatedly, “I believe in myself more; but still, thank you.”

“You will thank me for this one day,” Sungwoon says as he plops down beside Jihoon, “I’ll put it in your bag, alright?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon answers cursorily, restoring his work of slicing more turnips for kimbap.

“By the way, where’s Uncle Park though?” asks Sungwoon, “thought I could say hi to him.”

Jihoon scoffs viciously and utters, “he is paying a visit to Paris Baguette, _allegedly._ ”

“The bakery? Why? You’ve got food here.”

“Someone here got married last month, and the couple gave all guests vouchers from that bakery as a return gift, he _claims_ he’s going there to redeem it,” Jihoon explains impassively, before he emits a morose sigh, “but it’s more likely that he’s at a gambling den or with a hooker, like where he usually is when he’s not here.”

Sungwoon tightens his lips into a thin line, for how he himself is out of appropriate responses. Silence between the two ensues until Jihoon’s phone buzzes and lights up with a call from his father.

Jihoon takes a deep breath in before he answers the phone coldly, “Now what.”

To his surprise, the person on the other side of the phone is not his father, and his eyebrows crumple in irritation upon hearing what that person has said. “I’ll be there in 5,” Jihoon repliesbriefly before hanging up.

“Gees, help me look after here,” Jihoon hurriedly requests as he swiftly takes off his apron and gloves, “Dad’s in trouble, _fuck._ ”

“What?”

He sprints to the exit and disappears among the crowd before he can hear Sungwoon’s question.

-

Jihoon could feel his calves burning as he enters a worn-out building that he wishes to be absolutely unacquainted with. The dust, cobwebs and graffitis on the walls by the narrow stairs remind him that it is better to leave sooner rather than later.

He skids to a stop in front of a flat where a few middle-aged men were waiting outside, all perching on a stool with gauche postures. One of them, in particular, keeps gawking at Jihoon with wonder.

“What the hell are you looking at?” Jihoon bawls as he presses the door bell; and the man immediately shifts his focus back to the newspaper in his hand.

A young woman with heavy make-up opens the door, and Jihoon immediately recognises her as the call girl that his father frequents. He glances at the sofa at the other end of the room, and there he sees his father hunching his back with one hand on his waist, squeezing his eyebrows to the tightest.

“Oh god, dad, just what have you done?” Jihoon storms into the room.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Don’t worry,” his father unconvincingly soothes, “didn’t Woojin tell you what happened in the call?”

Woojin, who is sitting right next to his father, avoids all eye contact as he utters, “uh…, I didn’t.”

“Basically, my waist snaps when I… uh…,” Jihoon’s dad splutters, “was having a nice shag. And I can’t walk now.”

Woojin understands he is the ultimate outsider here, but he can still feel the awkwardness in the air. In his mind, it is excruciatingly odd to see your parents got hurt in an intimate position. That is why he simply urged Jihoon to come as soon as possible on the call. He has never imagined that Jihoon and his father shares a relationship that allows such honesty.

“I’m not sure if you want Jihoon to…”

“Of course I have to let Jihoon know why am I injured, Woojin,” Jihoon’s father continues with a weird aura of seriousness, “Jihoon may think I have tripped or something if he doesn’t know what happened, and he will get worried. It is more disburdening if he knows I just happen to sprain my back when I was banging a call girl. You know, as a parent, I always consider my kid’s feelings.”

Neither Jihoon or Woojin is in the mood to chastise the fundamentally flawed logic behind what they have just heard. Both choose to silently help Jihoon’s father put on his coat instead, one for each sleeve.

“Why are you here then?” Jihoon challenges, pointing at Woojin.

“I screamed when that happened,” Jihoon’s father supplements, “Woojin was waiting for his turn outside, so he barged in.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, No,” Woojin waves his hand in a manner that clearly means to deny the story, “I wasn’t waiting for… my turn, or anything. I live next door and I just happen to walk pass here when I hear your father’s scream. Gees.”

“Whatever,” Jihoon shurgs before he crouches in front of his father to piggyback him, “dad, let’s go. Better visit the doctor first.”

Jihoon’s father then places his arm on Jihoon’s shoulder bone and leans himself on his son with noticeable hesitation.

“Do you need help?” asks Woojin with concern.

“No,” Jihoon grimaces. With his knees still bent, Jihoon joins his hands underneath his father’s legs. He tries to raise himself by straightening his knees, but his father’s weight drives him to overbalance, almost causing both of them to fall onto the sofa behind them.

“I _told_ you, argh, just let me do it,” Woojin offers, pushing Jihoon away already at the same time before kneeling down, “hop on.”

-

Jihoon’s father is not light at all. Woojin finds it increasingly strenuous to maintain a straight back as the trio makes their way to the hospital. He adjusts his arms to bring his elbows closer to his back as an attempt to transfer some of the weight to his hips. 

The trip was almost entirely made in silence, until Jihoon decide to break it when they reach a footbridge. 

“Hey.” Jihoon places his hands behind his back and turns around.

“…What,” Woojin replies after he pants.

“Thank you.”

The answer compels Woojin to halt himself from taking another step. Their eyes lock as soon as he turns his body to Jihoon. He swears that Jihoon’s eyes radiate a sense of softness and vulnerability, and never has he found his so-called rival in such an disarming state.

Woojin is clueless of why he starts to panic, he tears himself away from Jihoon’s gaze immediately, finding it immensely overwhelming to meet his eyes any longer. What he knows is that this has to be the worst moment one can find his own knees getting weak, considering that he is piggybacking someone else on his back and they are climbing stairs.

“It’s alright,” Woojin manages to utter, before he continues to carry Jihoon’s father up the stairs in a wobbly fashion.

* * *

It is Woojin who paid all the fees before Jihoon’s father is discharged from the hospital on the same day, given how Jihoon dashes off from the Market without bringing anything.

Even though Woojin has never demanded his money back, Jihoon understands thoroughly that owing more people more money is never a good thing. In turn, his endeavour to save up becomes more and more extreme. Leftovers from his own stall become the only thing that he ever eats; he even stops using his washing machine and hand-washes everything by himself.

Still, to his distress, the Market is incredibly deserted the next week. Coupled with the extra medical expenses on follow-up checks for his father, Jihoon simply cannot see how could he gather enough to pay the next instalment of Uncle Bae’s loan on time.

Moonlighting by night selling leftover was meant be an additional source of money, but it inadvertently becomes a solid pillar of his income now, especially when poor sales by the day means more leftovers by the night.

It is a winter night with howling wind, but Jihoon can still feel sweat forming on his forehead given how hectic his work is. A wave of customers has just left, but that does not mean he can finally take a rest. He hurriedly rolls more kimbap with a bamboo mat before he slices up more turnips and carrots. In between, he stirs the pot of congee above the stove with a wooden spurtle to prevent it from congealing. 

To his surprise, he notices a familiar figure lurking nearby, just as he really really needs to go tothe washroom.

It is Woojin.

“Um…hey,” Jihoon greets lamely, taking off his apron at the same time, “I don’t know why you are here. But uh…, I need help. I need to go to the loo.”

“Okay, then?” Woojin does not get it.

“I need someone to keep an eye on the trolley for now. Can you…,” Jihoon gulps, “please?”

“Just go,” Woojin fights down a surge of impatience and waves his hands in agreement, to which Jihoon simply mutters “thank you” before dashing off. He comes here with an objective — not to tend Jihoon’s stall.

For the next minute, Woojin blankly stares at the trolley alone and spaces out, until two metal cash boxes, one in red and the other in blue, stand out amongst all the food and raw ingredients by the counter. He turns his head left and right before opening the red one, and there he sees a pile of coins and a notebook that reads:

**2008 (20 y.o. me^^)**

Woojin flips through the pages and it appears to be an ordinary schedule book, except the notes written at the back.

  1. Settle all debts for dad before 25
  2. Leave this place
  3. Find love



 

Little does he realise that Jihoon has already come back from behind.

“ ** _Fuck you for real_** ,” Jihoon roughly seizes hold of his own schedule, tossing it back to his cash box with a loud thunk, “You are fucking ridiculous.”

“I…I’m sorry.” Woojin swallows hard before he stands back.

“Uh… yes you fucking should, even though I know you are sorry only because you got caught,” Jihoon bristles in anger, stirring the pot of congee again while he wipes off sweat on his forehead with his other arm, “privacy should be a basic concept that even your tiny brain could comprehend.”

The silence then follows is unbearable for Woojin, for how guilty he feels. He gazes at Jihoon from behind, who remains undistracted from preparing more kimbap.

“I, uh…, I…,” Woojin mumbles, trying to fill the quietness.

“You what?”

“I… I was reading the news today, you know,” Woojin utters whatever he can think of, trying to sound casual, “there’s a guy, 18 years old. He works 18 hours a day, and he died.”

“I don’t see the necessity to mock how I rarely get sleep, especially now at 12 a.m.,” Jihoon retorts without leaving the rice rolls from his sight.

“I wasn’t mocking you, can you be less uptight?” Woojin grunts, “I’m asking you to take a rest.I mean, if you didn’t bump into me tonight, you can’t even go to pee, which means that normally, you don’t, because there is no one to keep an eye on your cart if you do.”

“Of course I do go to pee, are you fucking crazy?”

“Who looks after your trolley then?”

“Er…, Jinyoung?” Jihoon recounts, “He said he often suffers from insomnia, and he likes to wander around the market when that happens. So he visits me here almost every other day.”

“Yeah, of course he is,” Woojin comments dryly, rolling his eyes, “so he comes here three to four times a week — the perfect frequency that won’t make his insomnia seem self-induced.”

“Well, thank you so much for drilling so deep as to whether I get toilet breaks. That must be exactly what I need. yeah," Jihoon chooses not to acknowledge what does Woojin’s words imply, before he squints at Woojin with suspicion, "hold on, why are you even here at midnight then?”

Only by now does Woojin realise that the night has unfolded in a disparate way compared to what he has pictured. “Uhhhhh…,” he shifts his eyes left and right, failing to garner the courage needed, especially when Jihoon's gaze feels like X-ray, “I… just happen to walk pass, yeah.”

“Great,” Jihoon addresses half-heartedly, clearly uninterested, “thank you for giving me a toilet break then. Bye.”

There is an inward battle within Woojin that only he notices, and he confesses after a sigh,  “Okay, okay, _FINE._ I didn’t just _happen_ to walk pass. Gees, this is so different from what I have planned.I…I came here to find you.”

Jihoon is taken aback. “For what?”

Woojin takes another step with his ears aflame, closing their distance, “I, uh, I… I’m… just… sorry we got off on the wrong foot at first.”

“And you think peeping at my schedule book is the best way to get us back on the right foot?” Jihoon remains apprehensive.

“I’m sorry for that too, okay?” Woojin swallows hard, with the mucus in his throat thickens as he looks at Jihoon, “I’m… I’m not good at expressing myself. Okay, fine, maybe I’m also a bit of an ass at first because of how we sell the same stuff.”

“You are.”

“Fine, I apologise for that, and I, uh, don’t like the fact that I have bad blood with someone who I get to see every day. It’s tiring, especially when Jinyoung lo…, I mean, is close to me, and he is in positive terms with you,” Woojin continues, “so I want to talk this over. We don’t have to be like, besties, you know. I just want to…settle everything. No more beef between us.”

Jihoon cannot deny, he does find Woojin’s apology genuine, for how he stutters much more than usual, and how soft-voiced he is. He finally eyes at Woojin, and is caught off-guard by how unsettled Woojin looks.

“Uh...,” Jihoon feels himself softening, but part of the bitterness still lingers. He tries to keep his face as expressionless as possible while he sasses, “I do think I deserve that _sorry_. So I’ll take that.” 

“Are we, uh, good then?” Woojin wants to confirm.

“Yes it is,” Jihoon agrees, staring directly into Woojin’s eyes again.

Woojin braves the eye contact for a second, and he finds himself clearing his throat innately. He swears Jihoon’s eyes look a little sparkly, and he is soon cognisant of how sweaty his palms are.

Just as he tries to wipe off the dampness on his hands, he sees Jihoon extending his hand with a constrained smile, “nice to meet you then, like, formally. I’m Park Jihoon.”

“I’m Park Woojin,” he deadpans, trying to hide how stiffened his body is.

“Without any intention to compromise our freshly established friendship, I must say: your hands are wet as fuck.”

“Cause it’s hot today.” _Nice try Park Woojin. It’s almost zero degrees now_.

Woojin’s eyes flick back and forth between Jihoon and a random object afar, and he can tell that Jihoon is doing the same in a cursory manner. Both of them stand still in an uncomfortable silence, until a customer behind Woojin do them a great mercy and nudges Jihoon, “excuse me, Bulgogi kimbap, two rolls.”

“Oh sure,” Jihoon emits an ear-to-ear beam, hustling to wrap the rolls with aluminium foil.

“Better for me leave now,” Woojin suggests, preparing to turn away.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow?” Jihoon marvels with a laugh, “actually, do you find it a bit weird that we say goodbye to each other?”

“It  _is_  fucking weird,” Woojin has to concede, “bye.”

“Bye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I do find some of my sentences too long-winded. Argh, will try my best to make them more succinct. Writing is fun but beta-ing and proofreading is not. HAHAHAHAHAHA.  
> 2\. I find it quite hard to construct "natural"-sounding conversations and I often have to proofread a few times what I have written before I am satisfied with the flow. Forgive me if you see changes when you re-read them.  
> 3\. Will update soon. The story progresses much slower than I thought, which means I got myself into a chaptered fic again ^^ (We are not even reaching one-third). Once again, comments are definitely welcomed and thank you all for your tolerance ^^ XOXO.


	4. Year 2008 (4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did i just write this instead of going to sleep.
> 
> Will beta when I wake up, it's daybreak here now again ^^. Thank you for your tolerance ^^

Business in the market remains horrible.

The only good thing that has happened recently, Jihoon supposes, is that he gets to befriend Jisung.

Why would Jisung 1. take a break from his job as a doctor and 2. come back to the market just to handle his father’s trivial follow-up matters remain a mystery. Yet, in any event, ascribable to their age gap, Jisung becomes his friendly and reliable brother figure, except the occasions where he posts very weird questions.

“Do you know what is the greatest thing that the Ancient Egyptians have ever brought to the world?” asks Jisung, resting his chin on his left hand on Jihoon’s stall counter.

“Uh…, the Pyramids?” Jihoon utters what he could think of, slightly bothered, “the Sphinx?”

“No.”

“Mummies.”

Jisung shakes his head.

“Err…the fact that they used to mix crocodile dung and honey as a kind of contraception?” Jihoon blabbers.

“What?” Jisung wheezes, “is that even true?”

“That’s what I heard,” Jihoon shrugs nonchalantly, “am I right then?”

“No,” Jisung laughs, taking out a small bottle of concealer, “it’s make-up! Try this, you will like it.”

“Can I not?” Jihoon furrows his eyebrows.

“Trust me, it will make you look like you just had a ten-hour sleep,” Jisung ventures. He agilely dabs the beige-coloured pigment on Jihoon’s under-eyes before the latter can further protest, “spread it evenly with your fingers.”

“ _Arrrgh_ ,” Jihoon simply wants to get this over with, “Like this?” He hastily smears the tint to the outer corners of his eyes with the help of a mirror. It takes him a few more seconds to concede that Jisung is not wrong — He does look very well-rested.

“I told you; you would like it,” Jisung compliments, “I must say, as a beginner, your application is quite good!”

Jihoon leaks an approval smile as he locks his gaze at his reflection in satisfaction. _Okay, maybe Jisung is right, make-up is the greatest wonder from the Ancient Egyptians._

_Yet,_ He is soon forced to disagree with himself when Woojin, slacking at the opposite stall, is staring brazenly at his face with a contemptuous smirk.

“Can’t you just let people enjoy things?” Jihoon simply chooses to outstare him.

“I can,” Woojin remains his smugness, “it’s just your expression is like the evil queen asking the mirror _who’s the fairest of them all_.”

As soon as Jihoon locates the carrot slices that Woojin deserves to be thrown at, he hears his father shrieks from behind, “Jihoon! Where are our vouchers for Paris Baguette?”

“Here,” Jihoon points at his own red cash box and asks, “what do you need them for?”

“Use the vouchers now!” His father croaks with quickened breath,  holding out the newspaper to Jihoon, “the news said bakery is closing down!”

“WHAT?”

* * *

Hundreds of panicked voucher-owners, including Jihoon and Woojin, are now queueing outside Paris Baguette’s branches across Seoul, following widespread rumours that the bakery is in financial trouble owing to over-expansion.

“Gees, why can’t the market be equally crowded?” Woojin rants with a bitter smile as he squeezes himself into a narrow space between two people.

Jihoon, who is right behind him, can only silent agree. He has never been claustrophobic before, but in the swell of humans contained in the narrow shop interior he feels panic rise in his chest.His shoulders are in direct contact with other strangers’. The air becomes incredibly stuffy while the crowd becomes a river of lava, with everyone flowing towards the cashier. Jihoon turns his head around, and there are still tons of people pouring in.

“WE HAVE AN ABUNDANT SUPPLY OF PASTRIES AVAILABLE. PLEASE KEEP CALM AND DO NOT CUT IN LINE, THANK YOU,” the staff at the cashier yells.

Jihoon is at once keenly aware of his surroundings upon hearing the announcement. The voice is oddly familiar. He tiptoes to gain a few centimetres for a better look; and by the cashier he sees someone he absolutely does not want to.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck...,” Jihoon immediately ducks behind Woojin for cover.

“Yeah I know,” Woojin turns around and rolls his eyes, “can you follow me tight so that we can leave soon? I can’t believe I’m sweating at this temperature.”

“Can you... can you get all the pastries by yourself?” Jihoon yearns, shoving the vouchers into Woojin’s hands.

“Why?” Woojin hands the gift certificates back to Jihoon, “no.”

“Please? I...uh.... want to poop,” Jihoon mutters, “yeah I want to poop.”

“We are like..., two people from our turn,” Woojin refuses to give credit to the obvious lie, “hold your shit together, like literally.”

-

Jihoon almost sticks his face against Woojin’s back when it is their turn. He tucks his chinto his chest, trying to shrink himself as much as possible.

“10 vouchers here,” Woojin counts by the cashier counter, “5 cakes each, which means 50 pieces.”

The cashier, however, does not respond, even though his fingers are only millimetres from the vouchers in Woojin’s hands.

“Ji…Jihoon…!?” The cashier utters softly, staring at the space behind Woojin’s shoulders.

“....yes,” Jihoon waves tentatively with a forced grin, “hi.”

It’s Minhyun.

“It’s…uh… nice to see you here, You… you weren’t free that night?” Minhyun asks politely before finally reaching for the vouchers.

“Yeah, I was sick,” Jihoon gabbles, darting his eyes away.

“What about the calls that I made after that?” Minhyun inquiries further.

Jihoon cannot come up with a legitimate excuse. Instead, He glances at the cakes on the display counter and stiffly changes the topic, “do you guys have sponge roll cakes?”

“Jihoon, I….”

“Uh…sorry, can we get our cakes, like, now?” Woojin quickly interjects with impatience as he tucks the vouchers into Minhyun’s hands, finally understanding what is happening.

“Sure…,” Minhyun nods defeatedly before he turns to Jihoon, “I… I got something for you, please hold on for a second.”

Minhyun sprints to his staffroom while Jihoon fidgets by the cashier in silence. Woojin, in turn, becomes the only one to carefully choose which 50 pieces of cakes to take away with the assistance of another staff.

“This is for you,” Minhyun rushes back, holding out his arm to Jihoon with an envelope in his hand.

Jihoon stiffens perceptibly and is reluctant to take hold of the letter. The two stand there with no exchange of words. Clattering chats from other customers from the background start to overwhelm them, until Woojin chooses to end this with mercy by audaciously snatching the envelope from Minhyun’s hand and shouts, “let’s go.”

-

The awkward atmosphere persists on Jihoon and Woojin’s bus trip back to the Market. Jihoon is now slowly nibbling one of the 10 matcha tarts that they have ordered, a stark contrast from Woojin, who is wolfing down a piece of Napoleon with crumbs falling all over his lap.

Right after Woojin finishes his piece of pastry, he taps Jihoon on his shoulder and points at Minhyun’s envelop in his pocket, prompting the latter to read it.

Jihoon hesitantly unfolds the envelop. Inside, unsurprisingly, is a short letter, which reads,

_Jihoon, it’s nice to meet you. We are two strangers where amazing things may happen between us. I simply think it was worth a shot. Thank you for making me confident enough to accept the risk that comes along with going after what I want. I wish you a good live._

“Life should be spelt with an F but not a V here,” Woojin points out.

“Tsk, _Park Woojin_!” Jihoon yells and immediately folds the letter in half, “yet again! Privacy!”

“I think he can feel that you would be rejecting him anyway, even if you said yes to the date,” Woojin remarks impassively, starting his bite on another fruit tart, “He could not have written this in such a short time when he dashed back to the staffroom. This must be written beforehand.”

“Can you not comment on this when you don’t know what happened?”

“Why are you ghosting on him then?”

“I didn’t ghost on him, okay?” Jihoon grunts, “I did tell him that I was sick that day, and I would be very busy for the coming weeks. I simply don’t have a more polite way to say _I’m not interested in a second date_.”

“Why not though?” Woojin counters, “He looks fine.”

“That’s not your business.” Jihoon shrugs.

“You just like to choose, and you’d rather wait,” Woojin quips warily.

Jihoon pouts his lips for a second before he continues, “Ehh… Yes? And the problem of that is? I mean, He’s not the exact type that I’m looking for.”

“I bet you don’t even know what are you looking for,” Woojin coaxes with a quick scoff, ignoring that the gush of air from his nose has blown more crumbs down to his lap.

“Who has ever precisely pinpointed what they are looking for when it comes to relationships?” Jihoon blusters in irritation, rolling his eyes, “I just… I just don’t see a stable future with him. I need to feel secure, like a lot.”

“What kind of _stable future_ and _security_ are you talking about?” Woojin laughs, “how old are you? 50? You are setting a very high bar.”

“I’m not you. I have debts to settle, bills to pay, and a father to look after. Until I get rid of any of the above, I don’t have _time_ for additional troubles, let alone finding a job that comes with a real career path, unlike this one,” Jihoon snarls, taking another small bite from his matcha tart, “I told Uncle Bae that I will be renting this stall only till I’m 25, as you can tell from my schedule that youhave read without my permission. I have to leave the market by that time, or else I’ll be stuck in there forever.”

“You simply hate this place,” Woojin splutters, swiping some of the crumbs off from his body, “groundlessly.”

“I suppose the fact that I wasn’t given a choice to be here is sufficient to explain why I feel that way?” Jihoon jests, ”You like this place, cause you grew up here, you thrive here; and understandably you just want to be here forever. Of course you think I’m crazy.”

“Fine, but do you really have to give up your sleep every night just to sell leftovers?” Woojin retorts, “how much would that earn? A dollar or two? You seriously think that will help you leave this place sooner?”

“That’s determination, and planning; neither of which you possess,” Jihoon bawls, before drastically softening his tone, “And…, I know that I still owe you money — My father’s medical fee on that day. I remember that, and I… I want to save up more to repay you.”

“Oh…,” Woojin has long forgotten that occasion, but he’s tempted to perpetuate his banter with Jihoon, “I’m definitely counting interest on that, don’t worry.”

Jihoon, on the other hand, cannot decipher if Woojin is actually joking or not. To play safe, heslowly takes off his necklace and places it in Woojin’s hands, “count this as interest then, or a pledge that I will pay you back.”

“The fuck is this?” Woojin asks impulsively, glaring at the pink crystal.

“My necklace from my cousin. It’s genuine rose quartz, not some cheap pink plastics that you might be thinking. At least that’s why my cousin has told me,” Jihoon explains, “it helps, and I quote, _attracting love, opening your heart centre and restoring love and trust_. You need it, you are single as fuck.”

“Don’t you need it as well then?” Woojin counters before finishing another fruit tart.

“You can tell how it doesn’t work on me from our fiasco in the bakery,” Jihoon emits a wry grin.

There is no further inquiries from Woojin. He silently tucks the necklace into his pocket, while Jihoon  aimlessly stares at the box of pastries in his hand.

Only by then does Jihoon  realise there is yet another pressing problem, “Park Woojin, do you have a fridge at home?”

-

“I still can’t believe you don’t even have a fridge at your home,” Woojin avows, closing the refrigerator in his kitchen at the same time, “and you got a fridge at your stall. I just don’t get why you insist storing your cakes here.”

“Like what I said, that fridge is for raw meat!” Jihoon blurts, sitting uncomfortably on the sofa for how messy Woojin’s living room looks, “their odour will permeate into the pastries. You can imagine how disgusting that will taste.”

“You are going to finish them either today or tomorrow anyway,” Woojin rolls his eyes.

“No?” Jihoon disagrees, “They are my breakfast for the whole week!”

“Fine, I am not going to comment on your diet,” Woojin brushes it off, “I’m more interested in why the fuck your home does not have a fridge.”

Jihoon puts down his head in silence. After a pause, he slowly utters, “we sold it.”

“For…what?”

“For… for… some gambling debts that my dad has incurred other than Uncle Bae’s,” Jihoon elaborates with a hint of woe, “our meals always consist of leftovers of that day from our shop anyway. We barely have any other food and the fridge is always empty, so we sold it.”

The change of dynamics between is alarming for Woojin. It takes him a pause to process his loss of words before he can cautiously ask, “So your dad…still goes gambling a lot?”

Jihoon sighs heavily, “He can’t control himself.”

“I see,” Woojin answers as briefly as possible to avoid awkwardness.

“You know, a long long time ago he used to own a few stalls also, but he lost them all in bets,” Jihoon recounts, trying soothe the atmosphere by sounding casual, “Quite a number of men I have met from the Market share this experience, nothing surprising, I guess.”

“There must be exceptions,” says Woojin as he trots to his kitchen for a can of beer, hoping that another pause in the conversation would ease the atmosphere further, “like me. I’m rich.”

“I know,” Jihoon allows himself a chuckle.

Woojin continues his streak of nonsense, “Have you ever thought of switching fathers then?”

“Yeah, very funny,” Jihoon cannot help but sneers, “what about Uncle Bae? I don’t have to pay him back then.”

“He could still be your father-in-law if you want,” Woojin smirks.

Another pause.

“You know, I simply can’t act like I don’t get what you are trying to imply anymore,” Jihoon confesses, “to put it nicely, I… I just don’t see Jinyoung and I being compatible.”

There is a slight hint of joy lingering in Woojin’s heart that he cannot explain upon hearing Jihoon’s answer. “Why not?”

“He is a the son of a landlord, a minor one, but still, ” Jihoon explains carefully, “showered with love ever since he was born; never worried about his life, or the future. I just can’t.”

“Following our chat on the bus, I thought that he being the successor of a landlord would mean a _very stable future_ and _security_ for you,” Woojin replies good-naturedly.

“I know, but…” Jihoon starts, then thinks better of it and turns away with a wry grin, “yeah.”

“But what?” Woojin prompts him.

“Forgive me if I sound extremely rude.”

“Go on.”

Jihoon hesitates for a moment before he continues, “I don’t want to be with a mama’s boy. Well, in this case, papa’s boy.”

For a split-second, Woojin wants to remind Jihoon again that he is setting a very high bar, but what Jihoon said is not wrong. Despite their life-long friendship, Jinyoung has never come across to Woojin, or anyone, as an independent person, both financially and emotionally.

“Noted,” Woojin responds after a moment of silence, “I thought you will say something like _I will not fall in love with anyone in the Market_ when you said you are going to say something rude."

“That might be a factor at play too, I don’t know.”

“Of course…uh…, it can be,” Woojin stutters with his head tucked, feeling heat prickling around his ears. The answer is nothing shocking for him, but it still feels like a cold, unpleasant stone dropping in his stomach.

“I guess I’m picky. I know that, but I really don’t want to waste time,” Jihoon slowly mutters, “to fall in love feels like a kind of luxury, because you are paying it by time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I complete a chapter I tell myself "this is going to be the hardest one to write", but then the next chapter always proves me wrong. T.T
> 
> Comments are definitely welcomed. Will update soon (and yes, i know, the plot is moving ever so slowly T.T). Thank you for your tolerance once again. XOXO.


	5. Year 2008 (5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update T.T Some of the scenes are harder to write than I have imagined. Will proofread soon. Will also update soon! I promise!

Jihoon’s stall has an unlikely guest today — a deliveryman with a wrapped gift.

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon crosses his arms, trying his best to sound threatening, “but I’m not going to accept this.”

“Mr. Park, the gift is at your disposal once you signed this form that indicates your receipt,” the deliveryman elaborates with patience, “you can throw it away; or even burn it if you like. But please don’t make my job hard. My boss will ask me why you don’t sign the form.”

Jihoon releases a sigh, for the undeniable fact that the deliveryman is, after all, an innocent party. He reluctantly gives his signature and takes hold of the box with noticeable grudge. Little does he notice that Woojin (who is just 10 feet away at his own stall) is keeping a close eye on his reaction.

With haste, Jihoon unwraps the gift and finds a smaller but fancier-looking box inside, together with a pocket-sized card that simply reads:

_May this brighten your day just as thoughts of you brighten mine._

_Jinyoung._

What he then finds, inside the smaller box, is simply a bottle of cologne. The elegant packaging prompts him to spray it into open air, but the overwhelming scent of cucumber that comes right after turns his face into a frown.

“Is it really _that_ bad,” Woojin asks as he marinates the beef with soy sauce, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“It is. I don’t like grassy smells,” Jihoon bristles in irritation, “Also, I don’t mean to be rude, but this is… kinda useless?“

“Jo Malone is an expensive brand, you know,” Woojin points out.

Jihoon immediately squints at him with furrowed eyebrows. Only after a short delay does Woojin finally notice Jihoon’s suspicion and hurriedly clarifies , “I… I know it’s Jo Malone only because of the signature bottle shape, yeah.”

“Jinyoung must have chosen this with your help, hasn’t he?” Jihoon growls, “Don’t act like you are an expert in luxury brands.”

“That’s... a bare assertion,” Woojin stutters.

“Well, The cologne says Earl Grey and Cucumber,” Jihoon points at the small bottle, “you like cucumber, a lot — you put tons of it in your kimbap.”

The energy it takes for Woojin not to leak a beam is overwhelming. His heart is leaping with joy, for how Jihoon seems to pay attention to frivolous details of him. “That’s just circumstantial evidence, yeah,” Woojin defends after collecting himself, not noticing that he looks endearingly distraught.

“Fine, even if you didn’t help him. You must have known about this for sure. And why the hell didn’t you stop him? Even after our conversation at your home a few days ago?” Jihoon grunts, “you are his best friend, which means you should steer him in the right direction.”

“Been there. Done that,” Woojin counters indignantly, tacitly admitting that he knew about the gift beforehand, “but why would he listen to me? I know you are single as fuck, but you must have had been in love before, which means you know how your inner voice of reason is shut down when that happens. We are sentient human beings after all. Apparently he’s romanticising all the opposition from his closest circle, he thought he’s being fearless and determined, like Romeo.”

Jihoon does not fully agree with that. As much as he wants to deny, he also knows he is an exceedingly rational person, if not rather uptight; he cannot even recount one situation in his life where his sentiments have overridden his rationality.

Yet, sensing Woojin’s frustration, he does not want to argue further. Instead, he turns away and wraps Jinyoung’s gift back to its original state as an attempt to fill the silence.

“ **You** should tell him how you feel, cause that’s the most effective,” Woojin follows after a pause, “I’m an outsider after all. Just say no to him. Your outright rejection would be a head-shot, once and for all.“

“I’d want to also, but you do know I’m still owing money from his father, right?” Jihoon reminds, “the last thing I want to see is to upset our debtor-creditor relationship. What if…, and I’m just saying what if, he retaliates when i reject him?”

“What?” Woojin yelps in disbelief, “he’s a bit immature, but he’s a good guy. I mean... of course he will feel sad for a while, but he won’t be doing anything stupid.”

“Of course you would say this, there is no guarantee,” Jihoon rolls his eyes.

“God,” Woojin snarls, “If you are so worried, the fact is — The sooner you bring him the news, the less dreadful he will feel. You won’t want him to feel like you led him on. People build attachments over time and the more time and energy they invest in building a relationship with you, the more hurt their feelings are going to be when you tell them that their efforts and feelings aren't mutual.”

Jihoon wishes he can argue against what Woojin has just said, but he knows the words are painfully true. He turns to Woojin again with discomposure written on his face. “Fine,” he concedes, holding the bottle of fragrance in his hand, “but let’s say— You are Jinyoung. How’d you react when I return this to you and tell you how I feel, or lack thereof?”

“I don’t know,” Woojin shrugs. Little does Jihoon know that the question actually invites Woojin to think about this _for himself._  He does figure out that the better answer to Jihoon’s question is _I don’t want to know —_ never does he want that to happen, but he sobers up and counters, “gees, we are going through a loop now. I swear he won’t overreact, okay?”

-

Just as Jihoon expects, approaching midnight, he could see Jinyoung walking towards his hawker trolley again. What Jihoon has not visualised, however, is that Jinyoung came with a bunch of flowers in his hands.

“Oh god, oh god,” Jihoon mutters before Jinyoung is close enough to hear him. He quickly checks his cash box to make sure the perfume bottle is still there — he has to return it, for sure.

Even though the street on which the trolley parks is dimly lit by yellow-shaded lights, Jinyoung’s cheeks are visibly red. Jihoon wipes his hands with his cloth and placed them behind his back, garnering the surge of courage needed.

“I have something to tell you,” the two of them utter at the same time when they are less than 5 feet away from each other.

Jinyoung puts down his head to hide his tender smile before he affectionately says, “you can go first.”

Jihoon squints at Jinyoung’s eyes. He stands still and takes a deep breathe in, “Jinyoung, I... I think you are a good person.”

The sentence is indicative enough for Jinyoung to know what follows. The aura of joy surrounding him is immediately snuffed; he lifts his head and gazed at Jihoon with tightened lips. To him, everything seems to be going on smoothly; what went wrong?

“I… think you are a good person,” Jihoon repeats, sensing the change of atmosphere, “but… I just don’t reciprocate the feeling that you have.”

Jinyoung thought he will scream and shout upon actually hearing the rejection, but what he can do, at all, is to part his lips slightly and utters an almost inaudible “Oh.”

“Uh…, and I am not in a good position to receive your gifts,” Jihoon is taken aback for the lack of response. He alternates his gaze between Jinyoung and random objects on his trolley, “I’m sure there are people who want them, and, more importantly, want you.”

The silence that follows is excruciating for both of them. Jihoon seizes the chance to take out the bottle of perfume and return it to Jinyoung. It takes the latter a significant pause before he finally raises his arm and takes hold of the gift.

“Can I just ask one thing,” Jinyoung sighs, dropping the bouquet behind his back at the same time.

“I’ll try my best to answer.”

“Just… just…, just why?”

“I just…. I just…. It’s just…,” Jihoon’s vocabulary does not allow him to phrase the crux of the reason in a well-received way, “it’s not you. It’s me. Don’t take it personally. You are good-looking, kind and very friendly. There must be people who want you.”

“But you still don’t want me despite all these,” Jinyoung mutters, and he notices Jihoon’s lips instantly trembles. Jinyoung immediately backtracks, “uh… no, I… I’m fine. Gees, I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry.

“No no no, I should be the one should say sorry,” Jihoon assures, breathing a shuddery breath. He thought their conversation is finally taking an amicable turn, until he hears Jinyoung dropping another bomb.

“Is it because you don’t want to be associated with a guy coming from the market?”

“What are you talking about?” Jihoon leaks a nervous laughter. He avoids Jinyoung’s gaze and vacantly stares at the congee pot, also turning a blind eye to his consciousness of the correct answer. He recalls his conversation with Woojin and cascades whatever is on the top of his mind, “I… I’m not ready to spare any time to be in a relationship yet. I have a lot of other responsibilities to handle. I don’t want to be distracted, and it will be unfair if there is only one person cultivating the relationship.”

“So it’s a matter of…timing.”

Jihoon bites his lips again and again, because he know the way he phrases his rejection is still sending false hope to Jinyoung. “Not exactly,” he amends, suddenly finding the surge of courage to be rightfully brutal, “I just… don’t feel the same way anyhow. I know that sounds hurtful, but I’d rather make this clear.”

“Well, it sure as hell is hurtful,” Jinyoung scoffs with a wry grin.

“Sor…sorry,” Jihoon’s mind is blank. He knows he’s being forcefully enthusiastic, “I…I will always treasure the friendship we shared. I hope what happens today will not change that.”

Jinyoung can only nod in silence before he turns away.

“Good…good night!” Jihoon yells behind Jinyoung’s back, hoping to make sure that he is fine.

And Jinyoung only does a faltering wave without turning his head back.

* * *

To Jihoon’s unease, Jinyoung is not seen in the market for the next whole week.

At other times, He manages to convince himself that Jinyoung’s disappearance is still explainable. Why would anyone want to meet the person who has just rejected you? Everyone needs some time to recover after a harsh blow like this. Also, in the first place, Jinyoung probably wanders around in the market just to see him. Now that motive has completely decimated, there is no need for him to linger nearby all day long.

This must be the case — Jihoon persuades himself.

Even Woojin does not know where has Jinyoung been. “He probably just went to travel,” Woojin answers cursorily, wolfing down the ice cream cone in his hand with one single bite.

“You don’t even seem to be slightly worried,” Jihoon blurts.

Woojin shakes his head as he scrunches the cone audibly.

“Aren’t you his best friend?”

“Yes I am,” Woojin acknowledges, wiping his mouth, “but he will recover sooner or later, like what he previously did when he faces defeats in love. I mean, he likes you, but not in a ride-or-die way. He just needed some time to be alone, like, some me-time, not some unnecessary chats that disturb his search for peace.”

Jihoon wants to dig deeper, but he is paused by Uncle Bae’s visit. Only by then does he remember that it’s the day for repayment. He eyes at his father nearby, and the latter readily hands Uncle Bae an envelope containing a pile of cash.

“This is more than what you need to pay this month, by a double,” Uncle Bar questions after counting the banknotes one by one.

“Yeah, just treat that as a prepayment of next month’s,” Jihoon’s father boasts.

Uncle Bae halts his action and peers at him with suspicion. “Winning much recently? My son has once complained that you are quite evasive when he demands money.”

The answer seems to be a resounding yes, but neither Jihoon or his father wishes to admit that. Instead, Jihoon initiates another topic, “Uncle Bae, may I ask where is your son? Isn’t he the one who usually comes and collects the money?”

“Well, he’s in the Embassy,” Uncle Be explains, “for study visa.”

“Study visa?” Woojin interjects from behind with widened eyes, “why?”

“Shouldn’t you know?” Uncle Bae challenges (and Woojin shakes his head), “I thought he must have told you. He’s going to summer school In London. _Hoooo~_. Such good news for me. I mean, god, finally he wants to do something with his life — quite spontaneous though, but I don’t care. He should’ve studied more, you know. We got more than enough to support him, but he’s always lazy and…”

Uncle Bake’s voice gradually fades to the backdrop with only Jihoon’s father listening, while Woojin and Jihoon knowingly stare at each other with no exchange of words, for how they know this is not a decision as _spontaneous_ as his father describes. 

-

This is not the only bad news of the day for Jihoon today. It’s Jisung’s last day here.

“Write to me with this address when I get to the U.S.,” Jisung says with a hint of woe as he hands Jihoon a square memo.

“Can’t we do this by email?” Jihoon asks rhetorically with a laugh.

“Sweetie, you could be the only one in the whole market with a functioning computer at home,” Jisung snickers, “most of us here are at their 50s already.”

“Not even Woojin?” Jihoon replies with a voice slightly louder than usual, nudging the named person’s attention.

“You don’t even have a fridge at home,” Woojin sasses, “who are you to talk?”

“Fair,” Jihoon rolls his eyes, turning his face back to Jisung.

“Aww, you two are cute,” Jisung utters endearingly (and Jihoon chooses to ignore what he implies), “oh, by the way, have you seen Jinyoung? He hasn’t been around these days.”

“Uh…, I haven’t. Perhaps you should call him. ” Jihoon stutters, instantly eyeing at Woojin again before he swiftly changes their topic, “And hyung, I still prefer emails though, maybe I’ll write to you first and we’ll see how things go and we can switch to that.”

“Of course! Teach Woojin by that time too, please. He lives in the pre-historic era,” Jisung jests.

“Tell that caveman to go get a computer first,” Jihoon mouths off with a laugh.

Woojin counters immediately, “I’ll get one in a snap once you have a fridge at home.”

* * *

And Woojin finds himself in the plight of honouring his dare three days later.

He is baffled by Jihoon’s sudden surge of spare liquidity. Nonetheless, after Jihoon shows him pictures of his new refrigerator, he kept his promise and bought himself a desktop.

“Do you need someone to help you with, you know, the setup…, installation and stuff?” asks Jihoon as he prepares to close his stall.

“Uh… are you actually volunteering?” Woojin furrows his eyebrows.

“I… I’m free tonight,” Jihoon offers with a failing attempt to sound casual.

“This is so not you,” Woojin answers briefly, closing his lips before it leaks a beam.

“Well, I am sorry for possessing a multi-faceted personality other than the diabolical and calculative side that your tiny mind usually perceives,” Jihoon hisses before a drastic change of attitude, “but yes, you are right, I don’t want to go home early tonight. Dad’s bringing a call girl home. So…um…, if you don’t mind, I need to a place to hide, for a while.”

Woojin simply shoves his hand into his pockets and throws his own set of keys to Jihoon.

“I gotta go to the city centre and get something,” Woojin follows, “but you can go up to my place and do the setup first. What about your hawker trolley? No leftovers tonight?”

“Not much,” Jihoon confirms as packs his bag, “too tired these days. Gotta take a break.”

“Wow, so you actually do feel tired,” Woojin is taken aback, “Again, this is so not you. Where’s the _determination_ that you always prided yourself on?”

“It’s on the way to smash your brand new computer into smithereens,” Jihoon swings the key chain on his index finger, “bye.”

-

Just as Woojin finishes climbing the stairs and reaches the level at which his apartment is located, the aroma of chilli pepper and garlic instantly saturates his nose. Yet, not until he kneels down to get his spare key hidden beneath his front door mat does he realise that the smell actually permeates from his own apartment.

He hurriedly opens the door and prepares to scuttle off to the kitchen; but what he sees next stops him and causes his mouth to hang open.

The living room is at its most organised state it has ever been. In fact, Woojin would agree that his living room is not distinguishable from one in the IKEA catalogue. The walls and the floor that were mouldy are now literally spotless. Food packaging gathered by the coffee table is mysteriously vanished, rendering the area seemingly more spacious than he remembers. His comic books, some of which even he has no idea where they have been, were piled and neatly displayed by the bookshelf in correct sequence.

“What the fuck…”

“You are welcome,” says Jihoon with a smug smile as he steps out of the kitchen (while Woojin continues to stare at the room with wide eyes), “but can you do this yourself next time? You are a like a hoarder.”

“I… I wasn’t expecting this,” the corners of Woojin’s lips uncontrollably curve upwards with his canine tooth showing, “thank you. And… you made dinner too? What about my computer?”

“Of course it’s done. It’s in your room,” Jihoon affirms, nipping over to the dining table with two bowls of noodles on a tray. Woojin can only dumbly follows him to the dining room while the latter continues, “oh, by the way,let me pay you back the money that I owed you.”

Jihoon then plucks out a cheque from his pocket and taps it on the table, while Woojin can only lay eyes on it with raised eyebrows. “Where does this money come from?” he inquires with great skepticism, “business in the market these days is at best average.”

“Not your concern,” Jihoon brushes it off. He then holds out his palm and asks, “now, where is my rose quartz necklace? It’s a pledge. Now I have repaid you, and I need it back.”

“I don’t know, I lost it,” Woojin utters nonchalantly, chewing a large chunk of noodles at the same time.

“Tsk, Park Woojin!” Jihoon gloats before he also picks up his chopsticks and starts gobbling his own meal, albeit with indignation on his face, “it's not nice to lose other people’s belongings, let alone a friend’s.”

“You said it was meant to be interest,” Woojin weakly defends, “Also, do you seriously believethat it helps when it comes to love? since when you have become so superstitious?”

“Can’t I change my mind? and it won’t hurt to recruit a little help?” Jihoon bleats, trying to swallow what’s in his mouth at the same time, “it’s about luck anyway. And I…, _oh god_.”

A strand of noodle drips out of Jihoon’s mouth, interrupting his sentence. Alerted, Woojin stands up and looks for tissue paper that he usually places on the coffee table, but it is, to his surprise, not there.

He turns his head left and right to scan the living room, just as  Jihoon also leaves his seat and reaches for the box of tissue by the cupboard, holding it out in front of Woojin’s face. “Look," Jihoon starts, taking out one piece to wipe his mouth, "I have tidied up everything. You’ll find tissue paper here from now on, okay? Don’t throw things around. You won’t be able to find it.”

Woojin gazes at Jihoon with a mixture of affection and amusement, “you do know that this is my house, right?”

“Yeah, but as a reward of setting up your computer and cooking you dinner, this area is mine now,” Jihoon teases, circling the cupboard behind the sofa in the air with his fingers, “don’t mess it up.”

It takes a delay before Woojin can react. He hastily seizes another piece of tissue paper and playfully dabs it on Jihoon’s lips, “You know. You sound exactly like when you first get to the market.”

Jihoon releases a joyous snort. “Well, in this case, I guess I can't tell you to fuck off with a knife in my hand, cause it's your home after all.”

“It’s not _that_ bad, okay?” Woojin opposes gently, “I throw things away regularly.”

“Like, once a year?” Jihoon jests, taking hold of the used tissue paper from Woojin’s hand, “also, you can’t simply hang a plastic bag on the kitchen door handle and act like you have a proper trash can.”

“That’s exactly what I was going to get just then, the old one was broken,” Woojin clarifies, “but I can’t find one that I like. Probably I’ll shop around tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it must be difficult to find one large enough to fit your own self in.” Jihoon trots back to the dining table to finish his meal, “You know, we can go together tomorrow.”

Woojin can only freeze upon hearing Jihoon’s bold invitation, finally understanding what does it mean by butterflies in one’s stomach. He asks cautiously after a significant pause, “don’t you… don’t you need to tend your stall tomorrow?”

“What? Don’t you remember?” Jihoon coaxes, “they gotta check with the pipes tomorrow. Annual maintenance. Can’t do shit without water anyway. Might as well take a break.”

“You seem to be rather laid-back recently,” Woojin points out after he finishes his bowl of noodles.

“I have always been,” Jihoon retorts, even though he knows it is nothing further from the truth. He then snatches Woojin’s bowl and brings it to the kitchen sink, “you can go take a bath first. I’ll do the dishes.”

Woojin could feel the air around him condense following what Jihoon has said. It takes him a few more seconds to figure out why such a mundane sentence can make his pulse thrum in a faster pace. This is a typical scenario of the life of a pleasingly boring couple — something he has always dreamt of, and wanted.

With Jihoon, it plays out even better than he imagines. He finds it exceedingly hard not to pause and locks his gaze at Jihoon’s back, who remains undistracted from rubbing the used utensils with a scouring cloth in the kitchen.

“The fuck you looking at?” Jihoon yells half-heartedly, finally turning around after noticing that the sound of footsteps is absent, “and why the fuck are you smiling like a creep? Go get a bath. Please, you nasty stank.”

Woojin simply wishes he could smell bad every day, so that Jihoon could affectionately call him a nasty stank thereafter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are definitely welcomed. Oh, also, as a side-note (and in case anyone wonders), none of the characters has had his final appearance in the fic yet. Will update soon. Once again, thank you for your tolerance. XOXO.


	6. Year 2008 (6) - Year 2009 (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for late update. This is meant to be two separate chapters, but I'm not sure where should I cut it into two halves. So please enjoy this rather long update ^^
> 
> Will beta soon. XOXO.

From Woojin’s point of view, shopping for ordinary household items together is something very intimate. He is never a fan of IKEA, but wandering with Jihoon in the colossal store sends him the pleasant illusion that they are newlyweds, who are now picking items for their new home.

It is clear to him that Jihoon shares part of the sentiment — the part where he dislikes IKEA.

“I just don’t see the need to take a two-hour bus ride for a trash can,” Jihoon grunts as they approach the cashier.

“Well, as you said, it is hard to find one large enough to fit my own self in,” Woojin quips, “IKEA has the most comprehensive collection, you know.”

“But you picked the smallest one,” Jihoon rolls his eyes, “I thought we are going to commercial areas like Gangnam. I wanted to do some shopping too,.”

“we can always go after this, can’t we?” Woojin shrugs.

Jihoon fervently nods his head with joy, “we will, even if you say no.”

-

An hour and a half later, Woojin finds himself standing in front of Gucci in Gangnam.

“Are you… are you fucking serious…,” Woojin slowly utters.

“Yeah,” Jihoon responses with joy, “let’s get in.”

Woojin is terrified, Never has he entered any stores of designer brands; and he blames his anxiety on the fact that there is a pink plastic trash can on his right hand — a disquieting contrast with the crystal chandeliers and golden hardwares from the shop interior. He could feel his feet stapled by the entrance, and all the staff members seem to be glaring at him with piercing intensities.

Jihoon, on the other hand, is completely at ease. He slowly strolls to the glass-shielded display next to one of the shopkeepers, pointing at a plain black wallet, “excuse me, can I take a look at this?”

The shopkeeper follows and hands it to Jihoon. He  prances to the mirror with absolute glee, holding the wallet in his palm. He stares at his own reflection in the mirror, as if the accessory is an integral part of his garment. 

Woojin can only silently hug his trash can in his arms, gazing at how Jihoon remains at the same spot and switches a few poses — until the shopkeeper coldly chides with obvious contempt, “might as well bring it back home and try for a few days huh?”

Jihoon immediately puts down his head with reddened ears, just as  Woojin whips his head over to the shopkeeper and lashes out, clearly offended, “Excuse me? What kind of attitude is this?”

The ears of Jihoon are now bright red. He places the wallet back on the glass display carefully, softly uttering a “Sorry” as he nudges Woojin to the exit.

“What are you saying sorry for?” Woojin bawls, refusing to leave. He yells at the shopkeeper again with rage, reaching his own wallet at the same time, “you fucking snob. We may not look super rich, but we got money, okay? I’m gonna pay for it right now.”

“Oh gees, no. Just go, just go, please,” Jihoon coaxes as he continues to lightly shove Woojin to leave the shop with him, “it’s not her fault.”

“How can that not be her fault?” Woojin counters with baring teeth, resisting to be pushed.

“Just _go_ ,” Jihoon mutters lowly, “I’ll tell you later.”

“But…” Woojin resists, pointing at the shopkeeper.

“Just freaking go _please,_ ” Jihoon mutters, scurrying to the exit as he pulls Woojin with him.

* * *

“You can't blame her, I guess,” Jihoon starts while he and Woojin meander down the crowded street towards the bus stop, “I have been visiting that Gucci for a few times, asking for the same wallet. It's natural for her to be annoyed, she is one of the nicer ones actually. Haha.”

“Uh…, okay?” Woojin says uncertainly, feeling his rage for the shopkeeper slightly dampened, “It just means you like the wallet a lot. Then why don’t you just… buy it?”

“Cause a wallet is something that you gotta use for a long time?” Jihoon reasons, “I mean, yes, that black one looks quite close to the one that I want, but it doesn’t fit perfectly. We are talking about the price of a Gucci. If I bought it, only to regret it afterwards, I’ll kill myself, for sure.”

“What does your ideal wallet look like then?” Woojin guides Jihoon to the bench under the bus stop shelter.

“Mmm…,” Jihoon tilts his head slightly with a weirdly confident smile, “a Gucci that looks like Prada?”

“The fuck?” Woojin narrows his eyes, clearly amused, “Just buy a Prada then?”

“No, Gucci,” Jihoon repeats sternly, “but it has to look like Prada. Gucci’s quality is better, but its design is too flamboyant. Prada’s designs come with subtle nuances.”

“I have to applaud your understanding of these brands, but still, this is ridiculous,” Woojin scoffs with scornful laughters, “no wonder the shopkeeper despises you. Why would such a thing exist?”

“ _Roar_ , I hate you,” Jihoon pouts his lips for his lack of clapbacks. “it’s my money. I don’t see the problem of spending it carefully.”

“Ah… yes, exactly,” Woojin raises his eyebrow, sending off a sidelong glance, “I want to ask this for a long time. You seem to be quite rich these days. What happened?”

“Well,” Jihoon cannot help but release a wince. “I’ve been saving-up, and I don’t want to simply let my money rot at the bank. Sungwoon-hyung advised me to use that money for investment, so I went to the bank and they recommended something called minibonds for me. The interest rate they give me is quite good.”

“I thought it’s because your father’s winning much recently,” Woojin scratches his head, “and what does minibonds even mean…?”

“I don’t know,” Jihoon shrugs, “I guess it’s a kind of bond? Which means it should be quite safe.”

“I mean, I’m not an expert at the finance market at all, but isn’t that risk and return are always positively related?” Woojin further inquires, “bonds usually come with rather a low interest rate cause the risk is low.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Jihoon soothes, “the staff said that this type of bond is a product launched by the leading investment banks — Lehman Brothers, have you heard of it? I mean, unless you are telling me these corporate giants are also on verge of bankrupt. It should be risk-free.”

”Nothing is really risk-free.”

”Stop trying to act meta.”

“Anyway,” Woojin does not want to protest further, for his lack of interest in investment. He replies with a flat voice, “I’m so going to laugh at your broke ass if you lose all your money.”

“Well, not like I have a lot to lose to start with,” Jihoon quips after releasing a scoff.

* * *

In the far future, Jihoon still regrets following such an ill-advised investment decision.

2008 is often remembered as the year of global financial crisis. Minibond, in reality, is a series of financial notes with an extremely convoluted structure, dressed-up as bonds to attract layman investors under the control of the then-leading investment bank Lehman Brothers.

On 15th September 2008, news broke that Lehman Brothers had filed for bankruptcy in the United States, which sent shockwaves across the world and immediately worried investors who had bought its minibonds. Their worst fear came true in October 2008, when it was announced that investors would not receive any payout upon the bank’s liquidation.

The value of Jihoon’s investment falls to zero in one night.

Woojin is cognisant of the investment fiasco, but not the shattering impact on Jihoon — until Uncler Bae calls him, and tells him that he spots Jihoon sitting by the edge of the rooftop of the market building, with his legs hanging out of the exterior wall.

With the largest steps his legs can ever take, Woojin sprints from his home to that rooftop, only to see Jihoon’s back against him.

It is a night with roaring wind, but weeping sounds are clearly heard once Woojin opens the door. He swears Jihoon’s hips are barely perching on the edge by now.

Carefully, he minces towards Jihoon from behind with hesitance, “You…you okay?”

Jihoon slowly turns his head and stares at Woojin, trails of tears are patently visible on his face. He lets the statement hang unanswered in the air and, instead, starts giggling eerily, throwing back his head at the same time before the mild giggles turns into boisterous laughters.

Never has Woojin seen Jihoon at such a state. Aside from his dishevelled hair owing to the strong wind, the reddened, brooding eyes strike a stark contrast with how pale-looking he looks.

The laughters stops all of a sudden and Jihoon turns his head back, with his body visibly shaking.

“Why the fuck am I so stupid… why….” Jihoon weakly quivers before another stroke of eerie giggles.

“Take… take it easy… it’s just money…,” Woojin utters whatever he can think of, hiding how fearful he feels, “you can always earn it back. You just need some time.”

Jihoon does not respond, and Woojin cannot even tell if his friend actually hears him or not. A moment of silence follows, until Jihoon raises his head and vacantly stares at the sky. Feebly, he mourns, “Why do you have to do this me? I’m running out of time. I don’t want to be here. What have I wronged you? Why?”

“You... you did nothing wrong,” Woojin stutters from behind. Without leaving his eyes from Jihoon, he slowly teeters towards him. “Uh…, where you sit is not… _entirely safe._ Why don’t you…uh…, turn back and come forward to me first?”

To Woojin’s terror, Jihoon does move — but further away from him.

“NO! PARK JIHOON, AT MOST YOUR BONES WILL BE BROKEN IN PIECES IF YOU FALL OFF FROM HERE! YOU WON’T DIE! IT’S NOT HIGH ENOUGH!”

Woojin can feel his own lips trembling for how that sounds. “…sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I was just..., worried about you. But I’m serious, you don’t have to do this. I…I’m always here to help you. I have nothing but money, like, a lot. Why don’t you come… come down first? Please…?”

Even Woojin finds his own speech unpersuasive. Still, to his bewilderment, be it the part where Jihoon is reminded that he will not actually die from falling from here, or the part where he boasts about his money, what he has said seemingly works.  Jihoon does turn his whole body back, with his feet supporting him at an upright position, albeit wobbly.

Immediately after, Woojin sprints towards him, and Jihoon at once clasps onto his friend’s body for support. Tears unceasingly stream down from Jihoon’s cheeks. He presses his forehead on Woojin’s shoulder, sobbing harder and harder as time gone by.

Moment by moment, the damping sensation on Woojin’s neck spreads across his shirt, almost feeling like a dam spilling down on him. It was as if every sound that escapes from his mouth was set to the frequency that would disintegrate Woojin’s heart into pieces.

Another fifteen minutes passes before Jihoon’s cries of despair starts to wither, even though Woojin could still feel his friend heaving heavily between his arms.  Unsure of what to do, he gently brushes Jihoon’s hair, “uh…, shall we…uh,go back down first?”

Jihoon fervent shakes his head as he continues to whimper.

“Okay okay okay. We will just stay here,” Woojin holds Jihoon in his arms more tenderly, also leaning his head on Jihoon’s shoulder, patting the back of his head at the same time, “Uh… do you want food? I can cook.”

Jihoon’s hunched figure remains unmoved. “Can we just…,” he mutters, pulling Woojin closer to himself, “stay like this for a while…?”

It is at this moment Woojin finally admits to himself what he has known all along, but was too afraid to admit it: He likes Jihoon - a lot. His skin tingles where they touch, and his heart beats so erratically that he thought it might fly out. His pulse is throbbing at an alarmingly fast pace, but it feels wonderful.

“Sure," Woojin mutters softly. He does not even mind if they stay like this forever. 

The embrace continues with no exchange of words, until Jihoon wipes his tears off his face as he sniffs, “Sorry.”

“Why?" Woojin pats his head, "You have nothing to say sorry for." 

Jihoon simply buries his head in Woojin’s shoulder, trying to subdue the upcoming wave of tears instead.

-

Throughout the trip back to home, Jihoon puts his head down. Obviously he is not in the mood to interact with anything after all of his energy is expended. He even walks pass the lobby of his apartment, until Woojin nudges him from behind, “Hey, uh…, you are home.”

“Oh right, sorry,” Jihoon looks up and mumbles. “Uh…,” The level of exhausting renders him incapable of coming up with a complete sentence. He can only blankly stare at his friend.

Woojin reciprocates the gaze, and he finds this tranquil moment perfect to be wholeheartedly honest.

“Jihoon,” he interjects, “I… I…”

“…yes?” Jihoon tilts his head.

“Uh…, I… I,” Woojin swears his world stopped still on its axis. He locks his hand behind his back, but the search for courage remains fruitless, “I will see you tomorrow, right? If you need help,like, financially, just call me, okay?”

“Yeah…um,” Jihoon bites his lips, “about what happened today, can you keep it between ourselves?”

Woojin nods.

“I just… don’t want my father to worry.”

“I don’t want to be rude,” Woojin snorts, “but your father does not seem to worry about anything to start with.”

“I know, but still…”

“I just want you to know that you are not the one who is in debt.”

-

Jihoon’s father, in fact, is never informed of the whole situation, he is in the casino, mesmerised by his winning streak.

“BLACKJACK!” He yells with an enthralling intensity, holding his arms up in the air with joy. 

It’s his eighth consecutive win. The lack of windows and clocks, the glitzy and palpable energy in the room, and the constant barrage of noises — a combo of the rhythmic hum of spinning wheels, the clinking of chips, and the pitter-patter of people running abound — everything nearby dazzles him and pulsates his adrenaline, buttressing his belief that _today is his night_.

“Sir, you are on a roll,” one of the casino managers approaches with a diplomatic grin, “fancy going to the private room over there?”

“No,” Jihoon’s father rejects sternly, “I think… I’m done. Cash me out.”

“Are you sure? That’s a hell of a run there, sir. It has to be your lucky day,” the manager flatters, “I have a proposition for you. Why don’t you stick around? We’re gonna put you upstairs in a suite, on us. You can eat up, clean up, and then come back down here in a few hours. How does that sound, huh?”

“No. I’d like to cash out,” Jihoon’s father spurns with his arms crossed, “now.”

“Fine,” the manager shrugs defeatedly, “as you wish, sir.”

“Put the money into this account,” Jihoon’s father writes down a series of number on a piece of memo from his pocket, “not the one I registered with. That’s my son’s.”

-

On the other side of Seoul, after seeing Jihoon home, Woojin travels to the city centre — he has to do some shopping.

There is nothing much in the shopping list: a gift, and a schedule book.

He knows thoroughly that his aesthetic for art is horrible, but something rainbow-coloured, in his eyes, should be all-embracing. What’s more important is that the texture is waterproof. _He is a pragmatic person_ , Woojin reminds himself; this should be very useful in a place like the wet market.

It is equally challenging to find a schedule book that starts from October, but he manages to get one after roaming all the stationery stores. He wants to become to a better person for him — more precisely, a person with _determination and planning_ : something he always mentions.

At the end of the day, there are two new items on Woojin’s coffee table: one is a properly-boxed gift, another is a navy blue schedule book with notes written at the back:

**2008 (20 y.o _Jihoon & Woojin^^_)**

1\. Become a person with determination and planning

2\. Become the person worthy of Jihoon’s love!

He crawls into bed right after, and he cannot even remember when was the last time he could sleep so soundly.

* * *

Life goes on.

2009 voicelessly comes on the scene, and it is two days before the January due date of Uncle Bae’s loan. Jihoon is now sitting by the dining table, counting the banknotes one by one.

To his relief, they have enough for this instalment, but what is left after the repayment will not be sufficient to support them for another week.

He turns his head to his father, who is lying on the sofa, chatting with someone on the land-line.

“Yeah, come up, I will just ask my son to stay at his friend’s,” his father utters affectionately into the phone, “yeah, he will be fine with it.”

It can only be the call-girl that his father frequents. Enraged, Jihoon bleats, “we don’t even have money for food!”

His father does not even take a glance at Jihoon despite his shout. He carries on his conversation with on the phone, "No no no, don’t worry, just come up first, I promise I have money for you, okay?”

Jihoon simply speeds towards his father and roughly seizes hold of the handset. 

“What the fuck!” Jihoon’s father yelps.

Jihoon shoves the handset back to the switch to end the call, before he quickly leers back at his father to silence him, until the ringer strikes again in less than seconds. 

“I TOLD YOU WE DON’T EVEN FUCKING HAVE MONEY FOR FOOD!” Jihoon picks up the phone in no time and yells.

“Uh…, are you Jihoon?”

It is a male voice, and Jihoon is caught off-guard; , “yes, you are…?”

“Oh, it’s me. Minhyun.”

“Min… Minhyun?

“Yeah, Sungwoon’s friend.”

“Hi.” Jihoon snuffs his rage and answers calmly.

“I was just wondering, are you free tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow?” he starts to stutter, and he does not even know why, “…what about I tell you tomorrow?”

“Huh? I mean, haha, sure!”

“Bye.” Jihoon ends the call immediately. He needs time to collect himself from one of the weirdest telephone calls he has ever experienced, and to digest why Minhyun suddenly calls him.

His father, however, does not give him the time needed, He sits up right after and chides, “for god’s sake, you are 21, For your whole life you have been single, what leads you to think that you have the privilege to make someone wait?”

Jihoon does not want to talk at all. He prances back to the dining table and counts the banknotes one-by-one again. Yet, his father soon joins him at the table and continues the topic, “deep down you know I’m not wrong. How much longer can you stay single without people thinking that you are a uptight, selective weirdo?”

“Shut up.”

“Fine,” his father concedes, “Just go through this scientifically accurate _would-you-rather_ exercise with me, and I will let you go.”

“What the fuck is that?”

No explanation is offered. Jihoon’s father simply points at the piece of sponge cake on the table and says, “ _Minhyun_.” He then shifts his finger to point at the coin nearby, “ _or Jinyoung_?”

It takes another second for Jihoon to register what is his father trying to do. He tosses the coin away. “You know I rejected him.”

His father casually shrugs. “Fine. Then, _Minhyun_ ,” pointing at the banana on the table, “ _or Jungjae_?”

“Who even is Jungjae?”

“The fruit stall owner near the entrance. He came out last year.”

“Jesus he’s 50!” Jihoon rolls his eyes as he tosses the banana away.

“Fine, that makes sense.” Jihoon’s father nods. “Now, _Minhyun_ ,” he then points at the kimbap leftovers on the table, “ _or Woojin_?”

Jihoon can only gulp. Since when has Woojin evolved from an odd candidate for his parameters of love to someone who legitimately worths serious considerations? After all the days they have spent together, even he forgets when exactly does he finally look past Woojin’s loutish behaviour and see that he’s a good person too.

He eyes at the kimbap on the table, tempted but paralysed, and he could feel his heart ricocheted off his rib cage.

Yet, the harsh knock on the dining table from his father brings him back to the reality. “Who?”

“Uh…” Jihoon looks away, flicking his eyes left and right.

“Are you crazy?” Jihoon’s father hurriedly grabs the kimbap from the table and hurls it to the trash can, poking at the sponge cake firmly and lectures, “Of course it’s Minhyun! You have been nagging how much you want to leave this place as soon as possible, why the fuck would you want your life to be interwoven with someone here then? Minhyun comes back to find you even after you  _kind_ _a_  rejected him. What else can you expect from a person? Yeah, he could be boring, and unremarkable, but he keeps you on the right track! What are still waiting for?”

What his father has said makes perfect sense, but an unsettling feeling still lingers in Jihoon’s stomach. He bites his lower lip again and again, but nothing persuasive comes up from his mind.

“Buy some new clothes before you meet Minhyun tomorrow, okay? Get a new wallet too, yours is so worn out.” Jihoon’s father then reaches his wallet from his back pocket and shoves a pile of cash to his son, trying to pacify (and end) this rather heated conversation. 

Jihoon can only gawk at his father with clear amazement.

“How much money are you hiding from me?”

“None of your business.” He answers, lying down on the sofa again before dialling the number of the call-girl again, leaving Jihoon sitting still by the dining table.

* * *

Woojin is not sure if he should enjoy Jinyoung’s visit during his semester break.

His best friend is now admitted to a sixth-form college in the UK, fully immersing himself as a full-time student. Ever since Jinyoung comes back for the break, their conversations exclusively revolve around two things — His travelling adventures during his free time, and his new crush in the UK called Daehwi.

Woojin blames it on the novelty of living in a foreign country.

“I was in Venice last week,  _argh,_ so overrated” Jinyoung recounts as he slacks at the back of Woojin’s stall, “Florence is nice though, the view from the cathedral is amazing.”

“You know, sometimes I’m not sure if you are studying in Europe, or merely travelling,” Woojin quips.

“I swear to God I’ve been working real hard,” Jinyoung scoffs, “I want to go to the same college with Daehwi. He wants to go to LSE for god’s sake.”

“All your motivations in your life originate from your love life,” Woojin teases.

“Fuck off,” Jinyoung joins the laughter, “by the way, did you get my postcard from Rome?”

Woojin only nods cursorily, not paying attention to his friend at all. Instead, he fixates his eyes on Jihoon, who is entering the market right at that moment with formal attire.

Guaranteed to Woojin is that there is simply no way for Jihoon to look even more stunning. Jinyoung follows Woojin’s gaze to find out what absorbs his attention, and he can thoroughly comprehend why.

Cognisant of the two pairs of eyes on him, Jihoon steals a glance at Woojin from the corner of his eyes. He quickly jogs to his stall and snatches the concealer from his cash box into his pocket, trotting to the exit right after.

Jinyoung then shifts his focus to Woojin, who is still gazing at Jihoon’s figure afar. With a smirk, he pokes his friend at his ribs, bringing him back from preoccupation.

Woojin uncontrollably jumps in shock, “oh gees, Bae Jinyoung. I thought it’s a bug. You scared me.”

“Well, sometimes I scare myself too, for how marvellous and open-minded I am,” Jinyoung sasses, “I mean, I’m weirdly okay with how my best friend is going after someone that I have once gone after.”

Woojin immediately squints at Jinyoung with furrowed eyebrows.

“Oh come on, your eyes can’t tell lies. Well, to be exact, No one’s eyes can do that,” Jinyoung mouths off, “and how hard is it to piece the clues? You know, the fun thing is: it wasn’t even a year ago when you told me that you hate him so much.”

“Things can change,” Woojin does not know how endearingly frustrated he looks whenever he mentions Jihoon, “just like it wasn’t even a year ago when you forced me to pick a gift for him. Now you have another target at your school already.”

“Whoa whoa whoa. Don’t be so defensive. I’m actually happy for you,” Jinyoung pats his friend’s shoulder with a vicious, serrated giggle, “I mean, I don’t have feelings for him anymore, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s a good person, right? It’s just I have absolutely no idea why you think you will succeed after my futile attempt. Good luck.”

“Such backhanded words of comfort,” Woojin spurts before he resumes his cooking.

“I’m being genuine. You definitely need luck. He hates this place, that’s what you told me,” Jinyoung advises, “also, you know, he’s not going to like you back simply because you treat him well.”

 Wonjin scrunches his nose, “that sounds oddly familiar…” 

“That’s what you have told me too when I used to like him.”

* * *

Minhyun asked Jihoon to meet at a seemingly random cafe and he agreed.

For the whole day, Jihoon has been submerged in constructing scenarios for the meeting ahead, and whether he has overdressed himself. Already the cafe is already in sight. The shopfront is slick, with fancy fonts and white etching upon the glass. A number of tables with umbrella are placed outdoors, and He can hear music from the inside — the kind of rolling Jazz that always plays a little too loud for the neighbours' liking.

Jihoon randomly chooses a table by the glass window, for Minhyun is not here yet; He figures that there is also a need to check whether his concealer below his eye has all fallen off. 

“Excuse me,” he waves at the waiter standing right next to him with a smile, “where is the washroom?”

“It’s on the left behind the bar table,” the waiter answers nicely, before he narrows his eyes and yelps in epiphany, “oh, you must be Jihoon!”

“Yeah…” There is no way that he has met this man before. Jihoon raises his eyebrows, “sorry, you are…?”

The man is prepared to answer. He parts his lips, but is interrupted by a loud knock on the glass window. Both of them turn his head over, and there he sees Minhyun.

“It’s… it’s been a long time,” Minhyun greets asks after entering the cafe, “nice to see you again.”

Jihoon puts down his head slightly. He only flip his hair gently as a response, for how Minhyun looks insanely better up-close than he ever remembers.

“You guys are already talking about it?” Minhyun asks.

“No, we haven’t,” the waiter shakes his head with the same polite smile, “we have just met for a second.”

Jihoon is extremely confused. “Talking about… what?”

“Oh, let me introduce,” Minhyun puts his arm around the waiter’s waist and explains, “this is my boyfriend, Seongwoo.”

“Nice to meet you, Jihoon,” Seongwoo holds out his hand.

No one in the room notices how the sparkles in Jihoon’s eyes fade at that ephemeral instant. It takes a pause before he can reciprocate the gesture with fumbling fingers. He then retracts his hands and places them on his lap, feeling like his guts just got cement pumped into them.

Minhyun gestures Seongwoo to take a seat by the table and starts, “I thought you guys have started, haha. Well, basically, Jihoon, we opened this place two months ago. Now we only serve coffee and other drinks, but we are looking to serve hot meals also. The problem is: we have little experience in choosing food produce and picking a good supplier, so we are trying to see if you can offer us some tips and advice.”

Rearranging his face into something that he hopes is nonchalant and casual-looking, Jihoon looks up and meet Minhyun’s eyes again.

“Of course I can help!” He exclaims over-dramatically, contorting a forceful beam, “why don’t you just ask me in the phone? Well, first, go to trade shows to get some samples. This is important, because…”

The meeting continues almost exclusively with Jihoon’s over-zealous chatters. He casts uneasy glances at the couple while he talks vehemently for the next thirty minutes. His speech gradually accelerates to a speed comparable to a machine gun. No intermittent silence is heard, for how he knows even a split-second of such will invite him to be swallowed into the pit of disappointment.

“oh well…that’s pretty much it, yeah."  Nervous laughters leak from Jihoon's lips while he stands up at the same time with a stomp on the floor, “Sorry but I’ve got to go. Don’t want to let my dad run our stall alone at this busy period. See you! Keep in touch!”

He storms briskly down the lane, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders before Minhyun and Seongwoo can even respond.

In fact, Jihoon does not have the faintest incentive of hurrying back to the market. Business these days is as horrible as one can imagine anyway. Instead, he takes a detour to Gangnam - to be precise,  the Gucci store in Gangnam.

“I want _that_ wallet,” Jihoon states flatly to that ill-mannered shopkeeper he met last time, as he searches for his credit card from his own shabby one.

“That was sold out,” the staff crosses her arms.

Jihoon releases a mild gasp.

“When will it be in stock again?”

“Uh…, never?” the staff permits a contemptuous smirk, “That was a limited edition.”

Hurriedly, Jihoon scans the glass cabinet in front of him. “What about this one?” He points at another one and asks, "is there a similar one that comes without that silver metal buckle?”

“No.”

“What about this?” He points at another one by the far left, “Is there one that comes with a darker shade of brown?”

“No.”

Panicked, Jihoon scans the cabinet again, and there he sees one that is quintessentially Gucci. A light brown wallet with one of the signature Gucci symbols: a gold coloured bee on a strip containing three distinct bands of colours, with a red band in the middle of two dark green bands.

It does scream Gucci, but it’s not as bad as he fathoms. He taps hardly on the glass and implores, “this one then, I don’t need to try it on my hands. Give me a new one.”

“This is the only one left,” the shopkeeper replies coldly; she holds the wallet in front of Jihoon’s face, “it’s on display for so long that the zipper is a bit off. Still want it?”

Be it the quality or the design, the wallet does not substantially fit his requirements, but it is, strangely, to his liking. Jihoon simply cannot reach a straightforward answer as to whether he should compromise — putting pecuniary concerns aside.

“No, thanks,” He convinces himself the decision is purely based on his current financial predicament, although he knows equally well that even if he is filthy rich, the answer remains the same.

The shopkeeper clicks her tongue in irritation. She places the wallet back into the cabinet andproceeds to serve another client nearby, with no intention to escort Jihoon to the exit at all.

* * *

The next few months has been incredibly grating on Jihoon’s soul.

The number of incoming customers has been unprecedentedly low, and moonlighting by selling leftovers at night does not help much either.

Inuniated with duties, no plans are made even though it is his birthday. To take a break from his packed schedule and celebrate seems nothing short of an unaffordable luxury. They have yet enough money to pay off Uncle Bae’s loan instalment this month, and his father’s slothfulness only adds fuel to his plight.

An uneventful day is what he wants, but every mundane task that he performs daily still goes inexplicable wrong. The rice is overcooked, some of the vegetables are rotten, and the stove is running out of gas.

Worse, for the whole night his stall has been devoid of any customers. It is approaching the end of his usual opening hours. He vacantly stares at a stall afar, spacing out gradually, until the light bulb near his stall banner starts to flash.

“Do you need help?” Woojin points at the flickering light.

“Nah, thanks, I can handle this,” Jihoon answers flatly. He then takes out the bulb out of the socket and installs a new one with ease.

Hardly does Jihoon notice that Woojin is closely observing his every move for the whole day. He has prepared something for Jihoon’s birthday — nothing pompous, but equally exhibitive of how he feels.

_Today is D-day_. He repeatedly tells himself.

“Um…, so…,” Woojin asks cautiously as he closes his stall, “what are your plans tonight?”

Jihoon shakes his head, “Dad’s nowhere to be found. Not much leftovers left cause I didn’t prepare much to start with. Probably just some sleep.”

“Oh I see,” Woojin answers somewhat unnaturally, interchanging his gaze between Jihoon and the keys in his hands, “er…, well, I got a letter from Jisung. He is asking me to switch to emails, but I don’t know how to set up and shit. If…. if you are free, can you come up and help?”

Jihoon puts down his work on his hand and gloats at Woojin, “you are more like 200 rather than 20 years old.”

“Please…, ” Woojin brazenly stares at Jihoon with puppy eyes, trying to act cute.

Jihoon rolls his eyes, “…Whatever.”

-

It’s not that Jihoon hates Woojin’s apartment, but the fact remains that right next to it lives the call-girl that his father often visits. Just the imagination of how they may bump into each other is enough to make him cringe. He dashes to the front door of Woojin’s apartment, quickly picking up the spare key beneath the door mat.

“You seem to be in a hurry,” Woojin wonders.

“Just be quick,” Jihoon coaxes, shoving the door open, and is welcomed by an unsightly scene. He turns his head to give Woojin a death stare, “ _Park Woojin_ , didn’t I tidy up your living room last time?”

“Cause it won’t tidy up itself afterwards…”

“Bullshit,” Jihoon starts piling up the comic books again by the shelf based on their sequence as if it is his natural instinct.

“I’ll go to my room and turn on my computer then,” Woojin scuttles off to his room, trying to mask his glee while Jihoon responds with a hum.  He simply cannot contain his joy and excitement. The adrenaline floods his system faster than he expects. He could feel his heart gallop at meteoric speed and his palms turn clammy.

He checks his room again and again. The gift under his pillow is still there. Jisung’s letter is still here. The computer is now on. Perfect.

Now he only has to wait till Jihoon comes in.

At the same time, Jihoon continues to tidy up. In the precarious mountains of comics, a fancy-looking, navy blue leather-covered notebook — something so uncharacteristic of Woojin, however, catches his attention.

He thought he must have mistaken, but his own name is on the cover.

An ominous feeling surges through his veins. He takes one step closer for a better look, and there he sees his name written next to Woojin’s, with a heart between them.

Panicked, he turns his head left and right to confirm that Woojin is still in his room. Then, he reaches the notebook at an extremely slow pace, fearing that Woojin will notice any irregularities.

Only by now does he notice that the book is, indeed, a schedule.

He hastily flip through the pages, and what unfolds in front of him causes his breaths to be ragged and harsh. Some of the pages contain photos of him, some of them have his name written repeatedly, some of them simply have heart symbols drawn all over the page.

There is no need to even connect the dots, an overload of signals is already flying through all the synapses in Jihoon’s brain.

But what really drops a bomb in his heart is the sentence on the last page.

_Become the person worthy of Jihoon’s love_

Jihoon cannot will himself to move, as if he is stuck underwater. He gapes at that page in disbelief. Everything is slow and warbled as he reads the sentence again and again in terror.

He remains frozen, until the sound of footsteps drags him away from the trance. Rashly, he buries the book among the fountain of comics, and warns himself to uphold his neutral expression.

“Oh, _phew_ , you are still here,” Woojin smiles, handing Jihoon a paper at the same, “cause I can’t hear any sound, so I was like _what is happening_. Hahaha. This is Jisung’s letter, just in case you need it for his email address.”

“I’ll help you set up one at my home.” Jihoon seizes the letter and prepares to stomp to the front door in panic.

“Hold on first,”, Woojin grabs Jihoon’s arm, “why the rush? Uh…, there is something else. This is for you.” He holds his gift firmly with both of his hands before he proposes with a tight smile, “ Will you…”

“Why are you sending me gifts out of the blue?” Jihoon harshly interjects, keeping his face carefully neutral.

“What? It’s not out of the blue!? It’s your birthday!” Woojin joyously reminds. The dread and anxiety that has deadened Jihoon’s mind and body remain unnoticed by him. He simply shoves the gift into Jihoon’s hand with an ear-to-ear beam and gestures, “it's your birthday gift!”

After a significant pause, Jihoon gives in and unwraps the box, and there he sees a rainbow-coloured nylon wallet.

It is, at best, hideous, but needless to say this is the least of his concerns right now.

“You said a wallet is something that you gotta use for a long time,” Woojin supplements, “So I bought this nylon one. You know, we work in a wet and slimy environment, It’s not gonna be shabby for the years to come because it’s water-resistant.”

Jihoon can only blankly stare at his friend, who is still obviously smitten.

“There is something important that I have to tell you too,” Woojin continues, “Jihoon, I…”

“Listen to me first,” Jihoon interrupts again.

“…Yes?”

Jihoon takes in a very deep breath. He then trots towards the bookshelf to retrieve the schedule book, passing it to Woojin silently.

“You little creep,” Woojin chuckles with his tone clearly meant to express affection. It does not matter to him that Jihoon has come into contact with his schedule anymore, for he is literally on the verge of confessing to him anyway. He grasps his notebook back and goes on, “I did this to you once, so it’s a draw now.”

“Woojin, you are a good person. I’m very thankful to have such a helpful person of the same age here. I feel very comfortable spending time with you too,” Jihoon frets, “but I just… I have not thought about things that forward.”

Woojin is still swimming in the haze of endearment. “It’s determination and planning, like what you alway say.”

Jihoon heaves a sigh. Then he utters slowly with his tone disturbingly flat, “yes, but there are things that are bound _not_ to happen, and you shouldn’t start _planning_ on that, let alone with _determination_ … Do you… Do you get what I mean, Woojin?”

The beam on Woojin’s face is already crumbling mid-sentence and he continues to deflate long after Jihoon finishes his words. Of course he knows what Jihoon means, and he cannot think of a single real word in response. His stomach sinks through the floor while he bites the inside of cheek, until a metallic flavour emerges on his tongue.

“If, If I have done anything that has unintentionally led you on, I… I am sorry,” Jihoon knows he is the better party to terminate the terrifying stillness, “I hope our friendship will remain the same, and uh…, about that money I still owe you, I will pay you back interest.”

“You don't need to,” Woojin mutters lifelessly with his head down.

Another pause.

“Er…,” Jihoon proposes feebly, “what about I help you set up your email at my home?”

“Sure.” Woojin despairs. It’s not the main point for him anyway.

Jihoon prepares to turn away, but he is aware of the gift in his hand. He hands it out to Woojin in silence, but the latter refuses, “it’s a birthday gift. Friends send birthday gifts.”

“Um…, thank you then,” Jihoon acknowledges and leaves.

After softly closing the front door, to his confusion, Jihoon can onlystand still by it for the next 15 minutes. He knows his father may pop up from the neighbouring door at any moment, but he simply cannot muster the willpower to move, to push himself for another step.

He knows, from a broader scheme of things, he has made the right decision.

But it still feels incredibly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're not overwhelmed by this long-ass chapter T.T
> 
> Some points to make:  
> 1\. Minibond was a high-risk investment product that was created by investment banks before the financial crisis in 2008 took place. A full explanation of that will take more words than this fic itself ^^. Wikipedia can help if anyone is interested.
> 
> 2\. Yes, this is a fic that covers a rather long time span. We are around 40%-50% of that. Some other real events will also be referenced later.
> 
> 3\. I know some of my sentences are super wordy. Forgive me, and I will definitely proofread them soon T.T
> 
> 4\. I really wish I can throw away real life duties and write 24/7.
> 
> Comments are definitely welcomed^^ Once again, Thank you for the tolerance. XOXO.


	7. Year 2009 (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long absence. Real life happened T.T  
> Will proofread soon

Nothing can comfort Jihoon more than a boost of customers, even though he is not sure if the sense of relief comes from the stack of banknotes hoarded by the cash till, or the fact that he is too occupied to spare another guilty glance at Woojin, who happens to be equally busy.

Interactions between them are minimal after what happened last week, and there is an implicit agreement that it is better off this way. Jihoon finally understands why did Jinyoung avoid him back then. It is simply less awkward for both of them.

“Pass me the sesame oil,” Jihoon softly asks Sungwoon, who is visiting him again.

Sungwoon silently fetches what his cousin has asked for. Clearly obvious to him is that something is not right. “You… okay?” he begins cautiously.

“Yeah,” Jihoon counters lifelessly as he sprinkles the oil sparingly over the rice, “why am I… not okay?”

“Uh…,” Sungwoon stutters, staring at Jihoon’s tightened lips, “just want to make sure you are fine.”

“I am.”

“Well, that’s the exact contrary of what I perceive,” Sungwoon points out, “but I’m not going to force you to admit that.”

Jihoon releases an audible sigh, which catches Woojin’s attention across the aisle, “basically, quite a lot of things happened recently. Your friend contacted me last week, and an extremelyweird meet-up ensues.”

“Oh, so you two still meet regularly?”

“No,” Jihoon explains, “I thought he asked me out again, which is weird because…, uh, I kinda rejected him before. Turns out he wanted a meet up for a fundamentally different purpose; it’s awkward as hell. Oh, and he has a boyfriend now. The weird part, by far, is he brought his boyfriend to the meet-up.”

Sungwoon gasps in surprise, a reaction that is within Jihoon’s expectation. He resumes his work in front of him, and only by then does Jihoon notice that Woojin is gawking at him from afar. The stare is quickly returned, and Woojin immediately retracts and turns away.

Little does Jihoon know that Sungwoon is aware of the weird eye contact between Woojin and him. He follows-up, “And then? This doesn’t sound like something that would cloud you the whole day.”

“Um…,” Jihoon makes sure Woojin is not paying attention before he continues, “some other things happened also, can’t elaborate it here.”

This seems to be a confirmative answer. Sungwoon glances back and forth between the two for a while before he eyes at his cousin with a smirk.  “Him…?” he whispers, leering at Woojin at the corner of his eyes.

Jihoon allows himself a faint nod only after seconds of delay.

“REALLY?” Sungwoon shrieks.

Jihoon immediately covers his cousin’s mouth with force, “ _Shhhhhh_.” He then points at his phone, signalling his cousin to communicate by text.

**Park Jihoon** :

He confessed to me the other day.

**Ha Sungwoon** :

SHITTTTTTT  
Then you rejected him?

**Park Jihoon** :

tb precise, I found out he’s going to confess, and I indirectly rejected him b4 that actually happens.

**Ha Sungwoon** :

heard from your dad that you two grew closer over time.  
must be very awkward rn between u 2.

 

“Yeah,” Jihoon answers verbally, putting down his phone and starts cutting up more turnips again.

 

**Ha Sungwoon** :

Why tho?

 

“Why what?” Jihoon asks after peeking at his phone, being too occupied to spare a hand for texting.

 

**Ha Sungwoon** :

Why reject him?

 

“Minhyun?”

“Tsk, _HIM_ ,” Sungwoon whispers as he glances at Woojin across the aisle.

And Jihoon finds himself in need of texting again.

 

**Park Jihoon** :

not the type I’m looking for

 

**Ha Sungwoon** :

So, basically, no feelings?

 

This is a straightforward yes-or-no question, but in no way can Jihoon will himself to nod or shake his head.

“Uh….”

The hesitation from his voice bleeds in excess, and he is not comfortable at all with such hesitance.

_Does he have feelings for Woojin?_

The mere fact that he struggles to give a definite answer is enough to scare him. Now that he thinks about it, the question never pops up as one that he has to confront himself with — be it when it comes to Woojin, or Minhyun, or even Jinyoung.

He has never considered himself as a utilitarian person, but what his mind has ever done, whenever he meets someone, is to go through his check-list of qualities and achievements. Such a practice, he finally realises, can be “unhealthily rational”, especially in the context of love.

“Yes, or No?” Sungwoon taps on Jihoon’s shoulder.

“Uh…” 

Sungwoon raises his eyebrows in silence.

“…No,” Jihoon insists.

* * *

There is only one day each year where the whole market is closed for business — the annual dinner.

Jihoon often contends the phrase “annual dinner” is a misnomer. To him, it is just a group feast with all the owners on the rooftop of the market building — nothing glamorous or formal.

Having said that, there is no way he can deny it is a great feast. The amount of food is one that on any other day would be expected to last several more. Most of  it is guaranteed delicious, for it is prepared by the stall owners themselves. Table tops laden with trays of delicacies lined up as a queue, with every food Jihoon can think of, lie in wait.

Despite the aroma that makes Jihoon’s mouth water, with Woojin being seated right next to him, there is no way he can feel fully comfortable. He stares vacantly at the spoon in front of him, keenly aware of how Woojin is gazing at him with yearn.

Worse, for reasons he will never understand, his father also brings the call girl that he frequents to the dinner. He does not want to be mean, but he is sure some other stall owners visit the same girl, and he is not open-minded enough to find this not weird.

It is as if god finds this combination not odd enough. Uncle Bae and Jinyoung are soon also seated to the same table, together with two boys whom Jihoon has never met.

Jihoon is not sure if he should wish this dinner would end as soon as possible, or that of his own life.

He assumes Jinyoung will sit next to Woojin, for close they are, but the landlord’s son offers that seat to one of the two other boys.

“These are my college friends from the UK, they want to experience the festive atmosphere, so I invited them,” Jinyoung explains to other guests by the table, he then points at the person next to Woojin, “that is Hyungseob, my roommate.”

“Hi.”

“And this is Daehwi,” Jinyoung leans his arm on the other boy’s shoulder sitting next to him, “my boyfriend.”

Jihoon swears Jinyoung’s lips are forming a smirk when he utters the last part of his sentence, with an unmistakeable eye-to-eye stare between them. He quickly turns away, only to land his eyes on Woojin, and he has to turn his head once again in an unnatural manner.

“Nice to meet you all,” Woojin breaks the silence.

“Oh yes, Woojin, nice to catch up with you here, _Hoo~_ ” Jinyoung joyfully declares, “I got something to ask you for help actually. Can you teach us how to make kimbap?”

“For… what?”

“It’s Asian Culture Week in our dorm after our semester break and we are representing Korea,” Hyungseob explains.

“We will be presenting kimchi, of course, but we want some other kinds of food. We were also thinking about tteokbokki, Jajangmyeon and Bibimbap,” Daehwi supplements, “but I guess we can handle those by ourselves. We figured it will be better if we ask professional help when it comes to kimbap, especially when Jinyoung always claims yours is the best.”

“Er…, sure,” Woojin gulps, slightly surprised by this request, “when are you guys leaving? what about this Wednesday?”

“Jinyoung and I are going to Nami Isalnd that day,” Daehwi informs, “what about Thu…”

It is at this exact moment where Jihoon notices that Jinyoung gently elbows his boyfriend. The couple shares an ephemeral moment of intense eye contact, before Daehwi lifts up his head and hurriedly amends, “oh er…, well actually, Wednesday will be fine too. As long as Hyungseob is free, he will be responsible for kimbap anyway.”

“Er…,” Woojin scratches his head, “shouldn’t you guys also learn how to make it just in case?”

“We will just be useless burdens fooling around by your stall, right?” Jinyoung sternly rejects, eyeing at his boyfriend while Daehwi fervently nods in concurrence.

The unconvincing acting from the couple almost makes Jihoon cringe, painfully obvious to him (and everyone else by the table) is that Jinyoung is trying to set up Woojin and Hyungseob. He finishes the cup of beer in front of him in one-go, before he pretends to be distracted by the boisterous workers near the food line-up.

What shrouds him more, unbeknownst to anyone, is the hint of spite inside his heart. Why should he care if Woojin is seeing someone else? He knows he should have felt a sense of relief, but he feels nothing akin to that right now.

“I’m fine with anything,” Woojin shrugs, before Hyungseob also gives a causal nod.

The dinner proceeds with predictable hustle and bustle. To Jihoon, it is merely a replica of the wedding that took place last year. After stuffing themselves with food, almost all guests leave their seats and scuttle to the dance floor, waving their bodies to the tempo.

The table is now left with only Woojin, Jihoon, his father and the call-girl. This could be the only time where Jihoon wishes he has something to chat with his father, so that he won’t be left stranded here, sitting in uncomfortable silence, while listening to the dirty-talking between his own father and a call-girl.

“Jihoon,” Uncle Bae suddenly emerges from his back, “We are running out of beer, care if you go buy some for us?”

“Sure!” Jihoon instantly stands up with a stomp and prepares to run. He has never been so delighted to run errands.

“Buy as much as you can,” Uncle Bae politely requests, “Woojin, maybe you can go with Jihoon?”

“NO!” Jihoon yells, only to realise he has overreacted, “I mean, uh…, I can handle this by myself. Bye.”

Both Jihoon and Uncle Bae then leave the table, and Woojin finds himself locking his eyes at Jihoon, whose figure gets further and smaller as seconds pass by, until a finger snap brings his attention back to the table.

“Shouldn’t you insist going?” Jihoon’s father heckles.

“Going… where?”

“ _Duh_ ,” the middle-aged man rolls his eyes, an act that Woojin finds a striking similarity with what Jihoon usually does, “going with my son!”

“For what?”

“What else would that be for? Just some time for you two to be alone, to make things up, you know, time to rekindle, or whatever that takes time.”

“I have no idea what are you talking about.”

“Fine,” The cold response makes Jihoon’s father clench his fists, but he does not shoot back immediately. Instead, he points at a dish of kimbap right in front of Woojin and starts, “ _My son_ ,” then he shifts his finger to one of the empty seats, “ _or Hyungseob_? Choose.”

“What are you trying to do,” Woojin darts his eyes away, refusing to acknowledge what does Uncle Park imply.

“CHOOSE!” the middle-aged man bounces up and shouts, which shocks the call-girl next to him to jump a little, dropping her chopsticks at the same time.

“This… this is a false dilemma,” Woojin insists, trying to conceal his choice, “first, I don’t have the say, never. Second, I barely know Hyungseob, choosing him over someone that I know for long would be unreasonable. Third, and most importantly, your son REJECTED me.”

“I know,” Jihoon’s father restores his calmness, “and it’s partly on me.”

“…What?”

“I mean, possibly partly on me,” the man amends, “as an expert of love, I guided my son through the same exercise, with equal scientific accuracy, of course.”

“And then?” The call-girl chimes in to share a portion of the virtual popcorn.

“It boils down to, you know, between you and his cousin’s friend,” he recounts, “there was an overflow of hesitation from his eyes when he stares at the kimbap roll, which signifies you, obviously, so I made the decision for him.”

“And then?”

“Fucks up everything, basically. Turns out, Minhyun — I mean, his cousin’s friend, is not available for the whole time. Now _that_ is a false dilemma. I told him not to choose you, simply because, — you know, from a bystander point of view, Minhyun is better — like, he does not come from the market, he is more educated with a better sounding job, and so on.”

Before Woojin has the time to digest whether he should feel hurt by Uncle Park’s speech, the latter continues, “but I’m sure my son likes you, He just doesn’t want to face the fact that he does, or else there is no need for him to hesitate. He is just confused, you know — he is mature, responsible, trustworthy, staid, reliable, you-name-it. But he is never experienced when it comes to love. I’m a bad parent, I know that, but I also know him. I’m the only family member he has, so is he.”

Woojin is out of appropriate responses, if not, any responses at all. He utters with bittersweet guilt, “I… uh…, I need time to take in what I have heard. Can we not discuss this right now? ”

“NO! YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Jihoon’s father pounds the table with a loud thumb, apparently swollen with rage, “MY SON LIKES YOU! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING?”

Everything by the table freezes upon Uncle Park’s agitated shriek, including Woojin himself. Even guests sitting by the neighbouring tables turn around to gawk at the altercation. Woojin remains his eye contact with the middle-aged man, until Uncle Park heaves audibly and places his hand on his chest.

“Fuck, my chest burns,” he proclaims, “lemme go get some painkillers from my stall, argh.”

The man slowly strides towards the elevator, but Woojin notices his steps get increasingly wobbly. He assumes it is the effect of alcohol consumption. With that, he turns back to face the table and stares at Uncle Park’s empty seat.

Only by then does he realise Uncle Park has not consumed any cans of beer at all.

The contradiction incites Woojin’s curiosity, but he is immediately interrupted by a loud bang behind him. He turns back again, and there he sees Uncle Park collapsing onto one of the tables.

“Who the fuck is this drunktard?” a guest by that table screams.

A ominous feeling sparks within Woojin, and the feeling greatly intensifies when the middle-aged man shows no motion for the next few seconds.

“ **FUCK!** ” Woojin screams as he runs towards the collapsed man, realising something is definitely not right, “HE IS NOT DRUNK! SOMEONE CALL THE AMBULANCE! QUICK!”

Other guests, including Jinyoung and his group of friends, start to surround him with obvious panic. Woojin quickly kneels down and turns Uncle Park over, laying the man’s head on his thighs. Both of his nostrils are now dripping blood, with his body visibly shivering.

“Ji… Jihoon,” the waning man whimpers, “Ji…”

“We…, We’ll find him,” Woojin shouts, “hang in there. Please!”

“He’s coming up!” Jinyoung quickly confirms as he ends the call, “I’ll call the ambulance!”

In fact, Jihoon was entering the lift when he receives the despairing phone call.

He simply cannot will himself to stop fidgeting or biting his nails. The elevator ride that normally lasts for less than 15 seconds suddenly feels eternal. At once when the doors open, he races ferociously towards his father, with unceasing tears from his eyes. Woojin hurriedly passes his position to Jihoon, laying the man’s head on Jihoon’s laps.

“ **DAD**!” he screams at the top of his lungs, followed by quickened breaths and teardrops landing on his father’s face, “WHAT HAPPENED!?”

His father’s eyes found his, and his lips trembled with the effort to form words. He sucks in a sharp, deep breath, but that seems to caught in his throat choking him from the inside. Icy cold sweat accumulates on his forehead while blood continues to drip from his nostrils. The ebbing man stretches out his thin arms to Jihoon’s face, with a look of pine and regret.

Jihoon clasps his father’s hand between his and his own face. “you’ll be fine you’ll be fine you’ll be fine,” begs Jihoon, as his voice starts to shake, “please hang in there! Please!”

“I….” The man chokes, with drool flowing from the side of his mouth. His beady eyes sweep the crowd surrounding him, and lands on Jihoon’s.

“ **DAD!** ”

Jihoon's scream shoots through the sky. 

With a little shudder, the middle-aged man becomes still, and his eyes becomes nothing more than empty, glassy orbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a long chapter because I figured it would be better to make a cut here.  
> But I should be more free from now on so please anticipate updates soon!  
> Thank you for your tolerance T.T XOXO


	8. Year 2009 (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again a shorter chapter because it makes more sense to make a cut here. Will proofread soon. Enjoy!

It is the night after the funeral.

The sheer force of his anguish has paralysed Jihoon to lie straight on his bed with puffy eyes, feeling his heart sinking right though his skin onto the floor. He does not feel the need to be awake, but the past few nights had come and gone without unconsciousness for even a moment.

There is not even enough energy for him to shed a tear now. He expended all that power at the funeral, crying as if the ferocity of it would bring his father back. The relationship between them is not purely tender, but losing him all of a sudden still feels equally harrowing.

“Hungry? Want instant noddles?” asks Sungwoon with a smile, who accompanies Jihoon home together with Woojin.

Jihoon remains his blank stare at the ceiling with no responses at all.

“Um…, what about a bath? You’re still in your suit.” Sungwoon proposes, “I can get the bath tub ready for you.”

“I…, “ Jihoon utters emotionlessly, “just want to sleep.”

“Oh, sure! I’ll turn off the lights then.” Sungwoon gently closes the bedroom door. He then eyes at Woojin behind him and shakes his head in a manner that clearly expresses worry.

“He probably needs more time.”

“…I guess.”

“I didn’t go to work for the whole week, you know. I just want to make sure Jihoon is fine,” Sungwoon heaves a sigh, “but I don’t think I can take any more day-offs in the short run. Boss is not that caring, understanding type, so please help me look after him from now on.”

“I… I will.”

“He’s going to the bank tomorrow for his dad’s bank account. Maybe you can go with him?”

“Sure.”

-

Jihoon could clearly hear the conversation between Sungwoon and Woojin yesterday night.

On one hand, he is glad to have company during this critical period. Yet, on the other hand, there is a faint sense of fear in his mind that letting Woojin accompany him would amount to sending wrong signals.

Having said that, he has no energy at all to brood on this matter. Woojin shows up at his front door the next day, and the two travel to bank together.

Since his very first visit, he has never had very nice experiences with the bank. Long queues and unreasonable customers are both permanent fixtures inside all branches. He is not even sure if banks generally despise underprivileged people coming from humble backgrounds, or he is especially unfavored owing to their family’s credit history. Needless to say, The substantial loss he had last year from the bank’s recommendation only add flames to his disdain.

“Hi, I want to close my father’s bank account,” Jihoon utters lifelessly to the bank teller, passing the documents through the small opening of the glass wall, “this is the probate, his death certificate, and my birth certificate.”

“All certified copies?”

“Yes.”

“Transferring the balance to your account?”

“Yes.”

“Hold on a sec, sir.”

Only keyboard clicking sounds from the bank teller are now heard. His fingers dance skilfully on the plastic keys, until what shows on the computer screen causes his eyes to pop.

“Hold on a second, Mr Park,” the staff politely excuses himself before he prances to the staffroom. A minutes or two later, he returns with a much greater grin and asks, “please wait for a moment, one of the bank managers would like to see you in person. Please follow me to our meeting room.”

Jihoon assumes it must be some standard due diligence procedures required to confirm the authenticity of the documents. He obliges and follows the teller, and is soon welcomed by a man with an offensively greasy smile.

“Mr. Park! Please take a seat.” the manager puts out his head for a handshake after he closes the door, “How are you?”

The etiquette is alarming, but Jihoon returns the gesture. “Good. Um…, I… I’m here to close my father’s account…!?”

“Oh yes, right. I am so, so sorry for you loss. Our staff is handling that for you,” the manager assures, “Mr. Park. Actually, are you free right now? If you are, we are very pleased to discuss with you your future financial plans and wealth management upon the receipt of the balance. If you are not, what about we schedule a time for that?”

The conversation is taking a sharp turn that Jihoon does not expect, and the manager’s suggestion is baffling to the say the least. “What… what are you taking about. I…I don’t think I am financially viable for any kinds of investment or that sort? Not even combined with my dad’s money?”

The manager is prepared to explain, but is immediately interrupted by Jihoon again with widened eyes. “Hold on, How much does my father have?”

“We notice that a substantial amount was deposited into his account, totalling to around 20 million won —”

“WHAT?” Woojin blurts out before Jihoon can even stop him. He eyes at Jihoon with wonder, and the latter also looks genuinely surprised, with eyebrows disappearing into his fringe.

A few seconds of silence ensues. Then Jihoon takes in a deep breath before he utters, “Please go on.”

“The amount is deposited around half a year ago, likely prize money or chips, cause the sender is from a casino. It has been laid idle there since then, and we have been contacting him on how to better utilise the amount. Most of the time he insists he has to discuss this with you before making any decisions. I guess… he has never talked to you about this?”

Both Woojin and the bank manager turn to look at Jihoon. Little do they know that there is the strangest mix of emotion in Jihoon’s heart. Bewildered, wretched, upset, disappointment, embarrassment — All of these are guaranteed.  His father concealed the money from him; that’s not disputed. 

What plagues Jihoon more is the desolate realisation that he will never find out if his father had always intended to conceal it till his last gasp, or he had actually planned to reveal it some day.

He recalls that day on the rooftop, where his father slumps flat between his arms. There definitely was a hint of regret in the older man’s empty eyes. With that, he lays trust on the latter scenario for a sense of comfort.

Yet, there is also one thing that he cannot ignore — the suddenly availability of cash to settle Uncle Bae’s loan in one-go, and the mere imagination of the sooner-than-expected liberation from the liabilities is enough to overwhelm him.

“Sorry, this is definitely news to him,” Woojin’s voice breaks the silence, noticing Jihoon’s lack of responses.

“Umm…,” the bank manager gulps, “what about we only deal with the transferral today? And let’s schedule a day for that later?”

“Yes, please,” Jihoon replies stiffly, who remains in his haze of confusion.

The staff escorted the two to the exit soon after. It is another trip strolling towards the bus stop again. Jihoon is still visibly shrouded by what he has just heard, while Woojin can only accompany him in silence.

Waiting by the outdoor bus stop is definitely tormenting at this weather. The bitter, fighting wind hitting on Woojin reminds him that it is one of the coldest winters in Seoul. His eyes flit up with concern at Jihoon, whose hands are tucked into his pockets, slightly shivering.

He thought his eye movements are subtle, but he is still caught. Jihoon quickly lifts up his head and reciprocates the gesture, staring right back at him. The embarrassment pushes Woojin to lower his head immediately, and the other person also follows.

“…The weather is crazy cold, isn’t it?” Jihoon would rather unnaturally initiate something than linger under the maddening silence. 

“Yeah.”

“Guess I should buy a heater soon, haha,” Jihoon adds with painfully dry laughters.

Woojin’s eyebrows curve upwards a little in surprise. “You don’t have one at home?”

“No”

“What the fuck? It’s what, ten below zero now? Are you Sub-Zero in Batman or what?”

Only a moment after does Woojin realise his response could be a tad too over, even though they are supposed to be “ _friends_.” He stares at Jihoon with regret, whose facial expression remains carefully neutral.

The word  _sorry_  is on the tip of Woojin’s tongue, but that is quickly halted by Jihoon’s upward curving lips, which gradually turns into a boisterous wheeze.

“What is it?” Woojin is baffled.

“Nothing. It’s just…,” Jihoon allows a final snort.

“What?”

“I just... miss our insults.”

It is as if a reset button between them is pressed. Woojin quickly yanks up his head upon hearing the unexpected answer, and their eyes meet. The silence that ensues is the most benign they have ever had, dissolving every gritty oddness between them.

Audible snickers between them are heard, together with approving head nods, until Jihoon counters, “actually, who the hell even is Sub-Zero?”

“Tsk,” Woojin frowns, “that villain who has to stay in the astronaut-like suit.”

“Sorry,” Jihoon waves his arms with sass, “I only know Joker and Harley Quinn, and I thought I was nerdy enough.”

“Whatever,” Woojin rolls his eyes, “you want food? I’m starving.”

“Yes,” JIhoon puts his hands back into his pockets, hunching his back against the punishing wind, “But something that warms me, please.”

“Congee?”

“Where?”

* * *

Even with the heater on and all the windows shut, the warmth in Woojin’s apartment cannot make goosebumps on Jihoon’s forearms go away. The bowl is just half empty, but his stomach is already stuffed. He sticks his palms by the outer surface of his bowl as a desperate source of heat.

“You full?” asks Woojin, wolfing down his own bowl of congee with a large spoon.

“Yeah,” Jihoon affirms, “It tastes good. Who taught you to put ginger in your congee?”

“My dad,” says Woojin, “he used to run the stall with my mum.”

“Rarely hears about your family actually,” Jihoon remains his grip on his bowl.

“…Well, they passed away around 4 years ago — in a car crash. I’m fine with it now. Time heals,” Woojin explains, only to remember the person in front of him is currently facing something similar, “I’m so sorry. I… I probably shouldn’t bring this up.”

Jihoon contorts a wry smile only after a delay.

“It’s okay. As you said, time will heal, won’t it? I’m fine.”

“If you really think in that way, then it’s comforting to hear,” Woojin puts down his spoon, “but if you are not, I am..., I mean, we are here for you. You don’t have to put on a brave face in front of us.”

“I said — I’m fine," Jihoon picks up his spoon to stir his bowl of congee, "I know, I cried like crazy on his funeral, and that’s why everyone’s worried. It’s just… it’s always better to let emotions flow. Crying helps. But it has to be stopped sooner or later, and then I still have to decide what to do next with my life. I won’t say I’m completely fine now, but I… I’m on that track, trust me.”

“That's very good to hear," Woojin is only half-convinced, but he knows there is no use to challenge Jihoon further. “So, what’s your plan now with, you know, your father’s… stuff, or things in general?”

“I don’t know.” It has been difficult for Jihoon to stop pondering his perplexed thoughts, and he is not in the mood to step into the muddle again. “But things still await in my life as I said, and I will still live my life to the fullest, as always; so don’t worry.”

“We all know you always aim high.”

“And there’s nothing bad about it, I suppose,” Jihoon chides, slightly bothered, “everyone needs to have a dream, right? You know, something to achieve, at least.”

“… I don’t? As a whole I’m contented with my life. I won’t complain if my life goes on this way — running the stall, earning a penny or two,” Woojin coaxes, as his eyes sweep the room with caution, before finally landing on Jihoon, “probably working with me with the person I like. You know, just an ordinary, mundane life. Yeah.”

“Then… it’s something to achieve too, right?” Jihoon darts his eyes away, noticing Woojin’s now empty bowl. “You finish? I’ll do the dishes.”

“Let me help,” Woojin stands up and takes his own bowl to the kitchen while  Jihoon soon follows.

Jihoon opens the tap, and quickly locates the scrubbing sponge as if it is his own kitchen. Woojin agilely hands him the detergent, and Jihoon starts to scour the utensils with that yellow-green sponge.

The two stand by the kitchen sink in an extremely pleasant silence, with only squeaky noises heard. Woojin knows he shouldn’t overthink too much, but he finds himself casting his mind back to that night, when Jihoon cooked dinner for him, where they behave like boring old couples.

He knows he is brazenly staring at Jihoon now, who seems to be fixated at cleaning the bowls, but Woojin simply cannot stop himself.

“Gees, why doesn’t your tap come with warm water?” Jihoon asks with scorn, as he retrieves the bowls from the sink full of icy water.

He flicks the freezing water droplets off his hands. Yet, the next second, to Jihoon’s unpreparedness, his hands are surrounded by a dry cloth, together with Woojin’s hands above it.

“Your hands are really cold,” Woojin mutters softly, while he continues to gently dap the cloth on Jihoon’s hands.

“I know,” Jihoon mumbles.

The change of atmosphere is glaring to both of them, and somehow unsettling to Jihoon. He knows Woojin is not applying any pressure, but he feels like his hands are glued under the warmth, almost as if it takes him willpower to withdraw them from the cloth.

“Thank you,” says Jihoon, unaware that his hands are still nonchalantly playing with the piece of fabric.

“It’s nothing,” Woojin reassures him hurriedly, seeing the confusion in Jihoon’s eyes,.

“No, I mean…,” even Jihoon does not know why he has to clarify what he means, and he knows elaborating further would only intensify the unsettling feeling inside his heart. “Thank you for everything.”

These four words, albeit simple, prompts Woojin to dart up to gauge at Jihoon. He swallows hard, and he finds himself unable to tear away from Jihoon’s eyes, sparkling under the dim lights in his kitchen. He is trapped, with his heart almost thrums through his clothes.

“We… we, are friends, right?” Woojin answers after what feels like an eternity, “I’m always here for you.”

There is no answer from Jihoon. He simply gazes at Woojin in silence, and the space between them soon gets dense. Woojin does not recognise how tense his body has become, until Jihoon ’s eyes lower the focus to his lips, before they quickly flicker back to meet his eyes again.

Every molecule in Woojin’s body is ready to close the distance between them, by taking that only step needed, but Jihoon tears his gaze away with a wry smile, at the exact moment.

“Yeah, we are friends, right?”

Woojin can only lower his head again, “of course we are.”

“…”

“…”

“I think I should go. Thank you for the meal,” Jihoon proposes, finally tossing the cloth to one side.

“Lemme grab you a coat,” Woojin suggests as he dashes into his room, “It’s cold outside, and it’s only gonna get colder."

“Uh…” Jihoon stands dumbly by the front door. He wants to reject, but Woojin soon runs to him with a coat in his hands.

“God, it’s hideous.”

“Matches well with your face then.”

Why Woojin has to put it on for him, and why he allows Woojin to do so, will always remain a mystery to Jihoon. After putting on the sleeves, he takes hold of the top button, and Woojin quickly takes a step back, figuring he would rather do the buttons himself.

It could be that he is nervous, or that the buttons themselves are difficult to be fastened; but it takes Jihoon almost half a minute to finish the first one. Woojin then steps forward and helps Jihoon with the second one, seemingly out of impatience — an act that also nudges Jihoon to lean against the front door.

Jihoon can hear Woojin’s breathing noises, and he finds himself interchanging his gaze back and forth between Woojin’s lips and the second button on his coat, where Woojin’s hands are on. Their faces become dangerously close, and their lips are aligned to the same horizontal level.

Both of them lift up their head slightly at the same time after the second button is fastened, drawing their faces to be even closer than Jihoon remembered it was. He knows he cannot take a step back with a door behind him, but he doubts he can will himself to do so even if it does not exist.

Woojin’s breath puffs warm against his lips, a stark contrast with the chilly air around them. He is terrified, more than when he was reading Woojin’s schedule last year, but this feels terrifying and wonderful at the same time.

“I… I better get going,” Jihoon dispenses the tension abruptly. He stands up straight and turns around, hastily opens the front door and strides away with his head tucked, not giving Woojin the opportunity to saying anything.

* * *

To Jihoon’s partial surprise (and, admittedly, relief),  when they meet the next day, the first thing that Woojin does is to mock his ruffled hair, and this seemingly restores the dynamics between them back to what Jihoon perceives as ‘normal’.

In fact, for the next whole week, neither he nor Woojin mentions what happened that night, and Jihoon is weirdly fine with treating it with such acquiescence. He has work to do, so as Woojin. Nothing impactful really happened, right? Why should he put every interaction between them under a microscope?

“Do you have sesame oil?” asks Woojin across the aisle, “mine runs out.”

Jihoon silent passes his bottle to Woojin, before a smug-looking man approaches his stall.

“Uncle Bae wants to talk to you,” says the man with seriousness on his face.

-

Jihoon is soon seated inside Uncle Bae’s office. He has been here countless times, but it still feelsas nerve-wracking as a job interview every time. His fingers are tapping ceaselessly on his lap, until footsteps are heard from behind.

He turns his head, and there he sees the man he expects.

“Well, I banked the cheque yesterday,” says Uncle Bae, as he clasps his hands behind his back, wandering into his office, “and I must say, I’m surprised, but also concerned, to see that it is not dishonoured. I don’t mean to trigger any unpleasant memories, but where does that money come from? Is that life insurance compensation from your father?”

“No…,” Jihoon remains in his seat, shaking his head, “but, sorry, I… I’d rather not explain.”

“And that is what worries me,” Uncle Bae reveals, striding back to his executive chair near the mahogany desk. “Look, Jihoon. I trust you. My debtor is always your father, not you, even though you are the guarantor. I always differentiate clearly between you two. Don’t borrow money from somewhere just for the sake of paying off mine. I can wait.”

“I did not, _for real_. Don’t worry,” Jihoon soothes.

The landlord gives Jihoon a poorly disguised skeptical look. “If that’s the case, fine.” He plucks out a piece of paper from one of the drawers and taps harshly on the desk. “This is the receipt, acknowledging the settlement of his 10 million won outstanding balance of my loan. _You owe nothing to me now_.”

This is the most sobering statement Jihoon has ever heard.

He holds the receipt with his hands shaking; most glaring to him is the bright red stamp that inks SETTLED on the bottom right. For the next few minutes, he cannot help but reads that single word over and over again, even though he is keenly aware that Uncle Bae is sitting opposite to him, waiting.

It should be a dream-come-true moment, and it is, but it feels much less exciting than Jihoon has always visualised, nor can he even ascribe this discrepancy to anything particular.

“Will you actually leave?” asks Uncle Bae, closing the drawer at the same time with a _bang_.

“Oh sorry,” Jihoon stands up, slightly caught off-guard by the middle-aged man’s apprehensiveness, “I was just spacing out.”

“No, I mean: Will you actually leave the _market_?” Uncle Bae looks endearingly concerned.

Jihoon’s stomach wriggles uncomfortably inside of him, and he allows himself a nod only after significant hesitation.

“Yeah.”

“That’s good to hear,” the older man approves, “You come here only because of the debt.  Now that it’s gone, and you are young. Why waste your youth rotting your life here, right? You should go places!”

“True,” Jihoon swallows down the bitter feeling, turning back to the office front door so that Uncle Bae will not notice his (potentially incomprehensible) struggle with the prospect of leaving.

“Our rental contract ends by the end of this year. After that, you are free to go.”

“Great.”

-

Jihoon soon trots back to his stall. Yet, for the next hour or two, he is completely  distracted by what happened just then. It is a meeting with a desirable outcome, but Jihoon feels weirdly hallow inside.

Now that another wave cusomter has left, there is finally time to spare all this thoughts on the matter. He takes out the receipt, once again tempted to read it over and over again.

The cash till is a nice container to keep this tiny sheet of paper safe. He unlocks the box, takes out everything inside, and places the receipt at the bottom.

He then puts back the banknotes and coins, but stops as he holds his  previous year’s schedule book in his hands.

The shot of nostalgia quickly kicks in, as he hastily flips the pages.

** 2008 (20 y.o. me^^) **

  1. Settle all debts for dad before 25
  2. Leave this place
  3. Find love



Jihoon heaves a sigh.

The 20-year-old him back then would never have thought that, in a year, he would already achieve two-third of his plan, albeit with a drastically different path. Life is really beyond anyone’s total control, and his father’s sudden death remains a time that he never wants to relive.

Notwithstanding that, however, Jihoon is sure the 20-year-old him would admire his current situation: He is not encumbered by any debts anymore, he is free to leave the market, and, most remarkably, he is 3 years ahead of schedule.

Almost nothing is working according to his plan, but, surprisingly, he is still on the right track.

Life.

“Is everything okay?” asks Woojin across the aisle as he notices Jihoon’s furrowed eyebrows.

”Yeah.”

”What is Uncle Bae trying to find you for?”

Jihoon parts his lips, but for reasons he cannot articulate, he cannot bring himself to deliver the (supposedly good) news to Woojin.

”Nothing. Just rental stuff,” Jihoon responds nonchalantly, trying to act casual by starting to cut up more carrots.

”Good then. Thought it’s some dead-ass serious life-changing stuff,” Woojin jokes.

”Nah. Everything’s perfect, yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are definitely welcomed^^  
> I know some of my sentences are super wordy. I'll beta the chapter later for sure. T.T
> 
> I really wish I can throw away real life duties and write 24/7. ARGHHHHHH.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for the tolerance. Will update soon! XOXO.


	9. Year 2009 (4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOOO happy that I got time to update my fic T.T  
> Please enjoy this long(er) chapter! Will beta soon. XOXO

* * *

At some point, Woojin and Jihoon adopted the habit of getting off work together. Sometimes they simply hang out at the rooftop, sometimes the bowling alley, sometimes each others’ home.

The two were heading to the bowling alley, but are snubbed by the “CLOSED” sign at the main entrance upon arrival. Now they are heading back with the same bus route.

Woojin is still terribly in love with Jihoon, and he is keenly aware of that. Yet, given how his confession failed last time, he fears that taking a step further would mean losing him immediately. He relishes on the time spent with him, and he’d rather leave everything between them undefined. At least they get to spend time alone without any awkwardness, he thinks.

“Just curious. How’s Jinyoung doing recently?” asks Jihoon as he looks out the window.

“Not bad,” Woojin shurgs, “He will travel to Norway with Daehwi in their semester break, for the northern lights.”

“That’s good to hear,” Jihoon responds casually, “wish I can see that with my own eyes someday.”

“Why not? You can always go if you want.”

“I got work,” Jihoon never seriously contemplates the idea, “and it feels pathetic visiting snowy, arctic places alone.”

“We can go together.”

Jihoon turns back to look at Woojin, and quickly switches back to the traffic outside the window again.

He sasses, almost overcompensatingly, “I heard that friends who travel together will usually drive each other nuts during the trip. With the amount of unfriendly verbal exchanges we throw at each other just in normal circumstances, I’d say we better not do that for the sake of our friendship.”

Woojin knew for sure that Jihoon wouldn’t say yes to his suggestion, but a hint of disappointment still ignites in his heart.

“I’m sure you’ll drive me nuts first if that’s the case,” he scoffs with a smirk. Perhaps the only option now is to go with the conversation flow and reciprocates the sassiness.

“We’ll see,” Jihoon reciprocates, exhaling very hard through his nose with a resemblance of a laugh.

“But, yeah, what you said is true though. I went to Jinhae with Jinyoung when we were still at high school, for the cherry blossoms. He did zero research, and we have such different budgets on food and accommodation. That’s the only trip we had, and I’m glad it is.”

“I’ve never seen cherry blossoms with my own eyes,” Jihoon reveals, “you went there by train?”

“Yeah, you’ve been there?”

“I…,” Jihoon puts down head, “I’ve never been out of Seoul.”

“I see,” Woojin quickly catches the change in Jihoon’s tone. “Uh…, what about we go there together next spring? You know, as a test-drive of our northern lights trip later?”

Jihoon is not even sure if he will still be here next spring, and he is still not ready to reveal this to Woojin. “I’ll probably drive you insane like what Jinyoung did.”

Chuckles are heard, until Woojin says with endearing frustration, “Argh, Jinyoung is just too spontaneous and creative. As a friend, that’s nice. As a travelling buddy, that could be disastrous.”

“But he should be quite fun to be with if that’s the case,” Jihoon points out.

“Yeah, when we were younger he always used all sorts of farm produce for fun. Our favourite is turnip-bowling. We use turnips as bowling pins and then we strike them with watermelons,” Jinyoung explains with an overflow of nostalgia, “Mum always scold us of taking those turnips away.”

“We can definitely do that next time when the bowling alley is closed again,” Jihoon prompts, “but where the hell do you find watermelons?”

“We just snitch them from other stalls and put them back afterwards.”

“Sounds like a plan for us some day.”

* * *

Jihoon figures that his dynamics with Woojin is finally back to normal, but he also knows that there is a ticking time bomb between them. Time is pressing, but he still feels inordinately awkward to deliver the news of his (potential) departure to Woojin. In fact, the more they talk, the more he finds it difficult to bring this up out of the blue.

He finally realises he should’ve answered Woojin on the day he asked what is his deal with Uncle Bae.

This unsolved issue has clouded his mind the next whole week, and working right opposite to Woojin does not help at all. He needs someone to talk to, and, to his utter delight, the perfect candidate also happens to be in Seoul for a short while.

Jisung.

“ _Ahh_ , it’s been a year,” Jisung greets as he enters the cafe, “can’t believe we have time to meet even though I’m here for just a few days.”

“Yes it is,” Jihoon answers with a grin.

“Time flies, and I guess it changes people too, you know, I can’t believe you counter-propose to have our meet-up at a cafe,” Jisung sits opposite to Jihoon, starting his mild tease. “I was so prepared to meet you at your stall; I’ve never seen you putting down your work for a day.”

“And that brings us right into the crux of what I want to talk to you today,” Jihoon sighs. He raises his hand for the waiter, “coffee?”

Jisung becomes a listener for the next fifteen minutes as he empties his cup of latte, while Jihoon elaborates every minor detail of his life in the pervious year. It is not as  coherent as Jihoon pictures he will sound, but he assumes Jisung will understand.

“Well, first of all,” Jisung finally speaks up after another 5 minutes, “I’m so, so sorry for your loss. No one mentions this to me.”

“I’m okay now, thank you.”

“Any plans what to do next?”

“Probably some vocation training courses, I don’t have a lot of money left after paying my dad’s loan. Can’t afford a full-time degree, I guess, nor am I really that good at academics honestly.”

“That’s nice to hear. You don’t come here because of anything else but the debt. Now you have settled that, of course you should pursue your dreams.”

Jihoon recalls the same thing said by Uncle Bae, “But…”

“But what,” Jisung raises one of his eyebrows, “ _Woojin_?”

Jihoon blinks a few times, before he reluctantly gives a nod.

“You know, from the emails that you two send me, I do see you share a very nice relationship.”

Jihoon’s eyes darts away, tightening his lips into one straight line. He visibly gulps, but that seems to be unnoticed by Jisung.

His response is at the tip of his tongue, but Jisung quickly interjects, with his tone turning harsher.

“But to be honest, I think what you are struggling is a false dilemma. It’s not a choice between Woojin or leaving this place. He likes you, and I think if you two do get together, he won’t mind if you leave the market for dreams that you want to pursue. He knows you come to the market not because of him, and he will still stay here even if you leave.”

Jihoon has never analysed the issue in this way, he parts his lips, but Jisung’s voice comes out first again.

“You are just struggling how to bring the news that snuffs Woojin’s false hope, without hurting him.”

“No. It… it’s not that black and white…," Jihoon shakes his head.

“I’m not saying that you don’t have feelings for him, but let’s face it. He simply can’t give you the things that you want, and you won’t be able to give him things that he wants. You two are simply looking for different things, and deep down — you know that.”

“I… I, don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

“You do. You just don’t know how to articulate it. We’ve all been there,” Jisung asserts with certainty. “We all look for different things at different stages of life when it comes to love. Some look for passion, some look for security, some look for compatibility, and all sort of other things, infatuation, maturity, positivity, you name it. When two people’s objectives align, they will wend their way onto the same axis, and naturally they will get together. There won’t be an insurmountable struggle like what novels usually depict and romanticise, or what you claim you are facing.”

“You make falling in love sound so effortless,” Jihoon grunts indignantly.

“Well, it is. Timing is what matters. Love that comes too early or too late won’t work. Once the time is ripe, with the suitable person, everything will come together naturally. If the time is not ripe, to struggle really does not help either. But of course, we won’t realise that until long after, and therefore we will still struggle, because we are sentient human beings. That’s exactly what you are facing.”

Jihoon stirs his cup of coffee, unsure of how should he respond. He is glad that his brotherly figure did not sugarcoat anything during the chat. Honest comments are what he desperately needs, but he simply does not fully understand Jisung’s words.

* * *

It also fails to give him any courage needed to bring the news to Woojin.

This Christmas happens to be one of the busiest time the market has ever experienced. Tourists from neighbouring countries pour in, and hectic work has once again numbed Jihoon from diverting any thoughts on other matters.

The week came and went like a flash, and it is New Year’s Eve now, approaching 11:30pm — the last day of Jihoon’s rental contract with Uncle Bae.

“You doing anything tonight?” asks Woojin across the aisle, cleaning up his stall with a wet cloth.

“Nah,” Jihoon turns off the lights by the stall banner.

“You… wanna hang out by the rooftop? There should be fireworks tonight,” Woojin proposes.

“Sure,” Jihoon gawks at the bright smile on Woojin’s face, and is quickly reminded that _he cannot delay the news anymore_. “Er…, I finished packing. You want beer?”

“I don’t even remember one occasion where you want beer,” Woojin laughs, “in the mood to celebrate?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon lies, “you keep on packing; let me go get some.”

Uncertain to him is the amount of alcohol needed that confers him the courage to say what he ought to. He scuttles off to the convenient store nearby, and it feels as nerve-wrecking as buying alcohol for the 1st time. With as many cans bottles of beers he can hug under his arms, he rushes to cashier, ignoring the piercing stares from other customers.

Different scenarios plays in his head as he takes the elevator ride, but no conclusions are drawn. The doors soon slide open, and Jihoon is welcomed by Woojin, a watermelon on the floor, and a bunch of turnips standing vertically within a triangular area.

“Alcohol won’t be fun without something auxiliary,” Woojin prompts. He swings the watermelon out, but it only manages to hit one turnip on the right.

“God, you are so bad at this,” Jihoon teases. He picks up the spherical fruit and tosses it casually, knocking all other turnips over.

“The fuck?”

“Oh don’t act it is your first time to see how amazing my bowling skill is,” he sasses as he takes out a can of beer and gulps down half of it.

The night gradually assimilates with one of the many other nights they spend at the bowling alley. Neither of them are professional bowlers, but Jihoon seems to have the upper hand at first. The only difference is that Jihoon remembers he has a mission to complete, and with the current alcohol intake, he is too coward for that.

It was their 2nd round when sounds of explosions interrupt their game. The two turn around, and there they see colours of fireworks on the sky.

“Must mean it’s 2010 now,” Woojin reckons, “Happy New Year.”

“You too,” Jihoon returns, before he hurries down his 2nd can, “a year older now, huh? Sometimes I dread how we count age in Korea.”

“Your birthday is already better somehow,” Woojin retorts, “I became two years old when I was just two months old as a November kid.”

They resume their turnip-blowing game. As time gone by, however, their aims gradually become poorer and poorer, especially Jihoon’s. Yet, Neither of them sees harm with going slightly out of control for just one day.

“You seem to be craving alcohol, like, to an extraordinary degree,” Woojin points out, as Jihoon finishes his 4th can of beer.

“I like beer,” Jihoon blurts, “who doesn’t?”

The alcohol left a burning sensation on his tongue, but also a sensation for more in his brain. He has never drunk to excess, but a few more minutes later the fighting wind that usually hits like needles feels like shots of giddiness. The rosy glow on his cheeks has turned bright red, and it spreads all over his face.

“OH FUCK! OH FUCK!” Jihoon slams his fist on the table and the cans of beer wobble dangerously. “Did I fucking gutter my shot again?”

He walks towards the other side of the rooftop to retrieve the watermelon. Little does he notice that his steps are as shaky as a baby taking his first ones.

Woojin is a bit alarmed by Jihoon’s boisterous behaviour. “Okay, you had your fun. You better stop here,” he says. He places the remaining cans into the plastic bag, but is shoved away by Jihoon.

“I WANT MORE!” yells Jihoon. He enfolds all the cans in his arms, and glares at Woojin with downward curving lips.

It does not take long for things soon take a worse turn, if not, spiral out of control. Woojin can only eyes at Jihoon helplessly, who is lazing on the floor after he staunchly insists on downing his sixth can.

“You better go home,” Woojin advises, trotting close to Jihoon.

“No,” Jihoon muddles, voice become raspier than usual. Jihoon’s mind is in a frenzy, legs giving away, and his world spinning faster than normal. Even looking at Woojin in silence seems unusually thrilling.

“Oh come on. You are piss drunk.”

“‘m… not. Hahahahaha.”

“You will hate yourself tomorrow.”

“I hate myself now anyway,” Jihoon laughs scornfully.

“Okay too much, go home,” Woojin insists. There is no way that Jihoon can walk on his own. He pulls up Jihoon to a standing posture. Then he lays one of Jihoon’s arms across his own shoulder, trying to escort him to stand up, but Jihoon quickly pushes him away.

“I DON’T WANT TO GO HOME!”

Woojin tries again, but Jihoon reacts the same. The same cycle repeats for the third, the fourth, and the fifth time. Whenever Woojin picks up Jihoon's arm and places it across his shoulders, the latter quickly fights back. Gradually, it almost feels as if a fist fight between them, and Woojin is understandably frustrated.

“AY! PARK JIHOON!” screams Woojin. He knows a scream will not sober up Jihoon, but he is out of choices.

Surprisingly, it seems to knock some sense into Jihoon’s mind. He quickly stands still, staring at Woojin in silence, eyes flutter open blearily.

There are no verbal responses, but Woojin is taken aback when Jihoon lays his head fully on his shoulder. He dares not move an itch, and only a while later does he hear weeping voices from Jihoon.

Woojin gently pats Jihoon’s back, and the latter starts crying even harder.

An extreme and sudden change of emotion in mood is what drunk people usually do, Woojin knows, but it is the first time he witnesses that.

“You okay?” Woojin asks with concern.

“Sorry,” Jihoon whimpers in between his cry.

“It’s ok, everyone’s been drunk,” Woojin notes passively. To him, what his friend has just said must be from the influence of alcohol. He is sure Jihoon will not even remember what he has said.

Woojin’s shoulder is soaking wet, but he is glad it is not puke, at least. The two remain their embrace, until there are no whimpers heard.

Just as he thinks the ordeal is finally over, Jihoon rounds his arms around his neck with a eerie smile. It is not the closest distance they’ve had, but Woojin cannot help but prickles up defensively.

“Let’s do sleepover at your home,” Jihoon slurs, eyelids half-closed with his cheeks bright red.

“Whatever.” Woojin is fine with anything that brings them to the warm indoors (and brings Jihoon to sleep). There is a need for his drunkard friend to rest.

To his utter relief, Jihoon is pretty clam on their trip back home. Woojin scrambles and lugs Jihoon up to the front door of his own apartment. He manages to fish out his house key from his pockets with one arm, while he supports Jihoon to stand with the other.

After they make their way clumsily to Woojin’s room, Jihoon immediately collapses on to the bed with an exhausted groan.

“Gees, it’s my bed, and take off your coat first at least,” Woojin grunts. He kneels by the side of his bed and starts unbuttoning his coat. Jihoon emits another groan and wills himself into a sitting position with his eyes closed.

It is the same coat that he gave Jihoon a few weeks ago, and the buttons remain insanely difficult to be unbuttoned. Jihoon does not seem to have the energy to even sit up straight for long. He soon shifts closer to Woojin, forehead leaning on his shoulder again.

“You smell good,” Jihoon compliments suddenly.

“You are drunk,” Woojin hastily dismisses, finally finishing the last button, “I reek of alcohol, so as you.”

By that time, Jihoon has relaxed his entire body against Woojin, with his arms draped around Woojin’s upper body. It’s a lie if Woojin says he dislikes having Jihoon’s weight against him.

Woojin now has to spend extra energy on not getting sidetracked at their close proximity. He can hear Jihoon’s deep respiration and, to his surprise, Jihoon starts sniffing the crook of his neck.

“You’re so warm.”

Woojin prickles at the resonation of Jihoon’s deep voice against his body. It is some of the most seductive words he has ever heard. He visibly gulps, but he also knows that no humans on Earth should exploit one’s vulnerable state. 

“Just lie down and get some sleep.” Woojin insists, as he removes Jihoon’s arms around his shoulder.

Jihoon quickly lifts up his head after Woojin’s response. The smile on his face fades as his expression grows deep. He stares intently at Woojin, reaching forward and pushing loose strands of Woojin’s fringe.

Woojin is frightened to say the least. He quickly darts his eyes away, but Jihoon’s stare gets more and more brazen.

“I…,”

“You what,” Woojin is secretly proud that he can still contains himself at this moment.

“I…”

_BLAAAAAARRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHH._

“PARK JIHOON!”

Chucks of food from Jihoon’s stomach is propelled into the air, splattering the floor and Woojin’s T-shirt. The vomit covered in the creamy chyme up looking like clam chowder, and the room is quickly filled with the smell of acidic Cheetos and strong alcohol.

“ARGH!” Woojin shrieks indignantly, as he quickly takes off his T-shirt and dashes to the kitchen for a mop.

-

Never is Woojin very good at housework, but apparently there is no one to help now. When he returns with a bucket full of water and a mop in his hands, Jihoon has already dozed off. To his disgust, a dribble of puke is still trickling down from Jihoon’s lips to his chin. He hurriedly wipes it away with the help of a tissue paper before he starts mopping.

It takes Woojin almost half an hour to finish cleaning the puddle of vomit on the floor. He plunges his mop into the water bucket one last time before releasing a sigh of relief. The temperature is below zero, but 30 minutes of housework is still a workout that makes him sweat.

He turns to Jihoon, who is still sleeping ever-so-tenderly. Seeing his face is a daily habit, but itstill feels a little too intimate, almost improper, to watch Jihoon sleep. 

“You are lucky that I like you,” Woojin utters with a bitter grin, as he turns off the light and closes the door.

It took him another fifteen minutes to hand-wash his stained T-shirt and hang it by the drying rack. Only by then does he realise that all his clothes are in his room, where Jihoon is asleep, and he is not sure if he should disturb his friend.

“Argh.”

Eventually Woojin falls asleep on the sofa without his shirt on, after he turns on the heater to the maximum.

* * *

Jihoon’s eyes fling wide when rays of daylight permeate from the window.

He quickly notices this is not his home. Frightened, he sits up faster than a cat in ice-water, and it takes him more than a while to identify that he is in Woojin’s room. The hangover soon kicks in, and it feels like a slowly inflating ballon inside his cranium.

Everything seems to be a blur last night, and the headache clearly prevents him to think straight. The last piece of memory he had is striking turnips with a watermelon. His mouth turns dry with thick saliva, stomach lurched and gurgled.

He tiptoes towards the living room, and there he sees Woojin, sleeping without his shirt on, hair ruffled, hanging a big dumb grin on his face.

What draws Jihoon’s attention, however, is the necklace on Woojin’s neck.

There is no way that he is mistaken. It’s an object at the back of his mind, but has never forgotten — the leather chain, the silver bale, and the distinctive pink crystal hanging at the tip, laying on Woojin’s chest. 

It is _his_ rose quartz necklace that Woojin claims to have lost last year — the one that Sungwoon gave him, the one that is said to help people find love. 

To ponder why Woojin has to hide the accessory from him only intensifies his headache. He tiptoes again to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face to feel something refreshing, to wash away the toxins in his brain, to force himself to face the truth.

The mirror shows him, waking up on the first day of 2010 at the home of another man, a man from the market, a place he never wants to be associated with.

He stares at himself, and sees a future that he does not want at all.

-

It’s already late afternoon when Woojin wakes up.

He knows, by then, Jihoon must be gone to run his stall, for such a hard-working person he is. After a lazy yawn, Woojin sits up with his eyelids still heavy, and the first thing that greets him is a memo on the table.

_Thank you for everything._

_Jihoon_

Woojin cannot help but giggles.

He hurriedly puts on his clothes and rushes back to the market. Yet, even from afar, he notices the lights near Jihoon’s stall banner is off. Baffled, he dials Jihoon’s number, but no one picks up his phone.

The calls remain unanswered. He keeps on dialling again and again, until Uncle Bae approaches his stall, handing out his palm as an indication to collect his rent.

“Uncle Bae,” Woojin greets, taking out banknotes from his cash till, “have you seen Jihoon today?”

“No? Why would I see him?” The middle-aged man laughs.

“Er…, because he should be here?” Woojin reasons, handing the envelop filled with money to Uncle Bae at the same time, “It’s public holiday today, which means a lot of people coming. There’s no way he will skip work.”

“What are you talking about? He’s not my tenant anymore; It’s his last day yesterday.”

Woojin’s spine goes rigid, eyes become suddenly unblinking and wide. He understands every single word in Uncle Bae’s sentence, but he has to re-read it in his mind again and again to fully digest its meaning.

“…What?”

“Gosh, has he not told you?” Uncle Bae asks, looking abruptly fearful.

Woojin immediately sprints out of the market before he can even make the conscious decision to leave.

-

The five-minute run to reach Jihoon’s apartment nearby feels like forever. He bolted up the stairs, feeling his knuckles ready to knock the wooden door with the greatest force they can exert. Yet, The readiness is quickly dampened when he sees a memo stuck by the door handle.

_ Mr. Landlord, _

_ Spare key below the doormat. _

_ Jihoon _

Woojin quickly retrieves the spare key, and yanks the door open with force. What presents in front of him is the tiny, squalid flat apparently devoid of any people, with few furnitures idling by the corners of the room.

“PARK JIHOON!” screams Woojin at the top of his lungs.

Nothing in the room even moves a millimetre, and only his own echoes are heard.

“PARK JIHOON!” Woojin screams again. He is not even sure if the droplets on his face are tears or sweat now. Echoes are heard again, and he shudders at the rumble of the reverberations against himself, feeling his lungs struggle for breath, feeling his heart carved out, feeling the grief that slowly bleed into his bones and blood.

He has never felt more empty in his mind, body and soul, never so bereft of any comfort, never so engulfed by the waves of hollowness.

The echoes finally die down, and there are still no signs of anyone, no signs of Park Jihoon, no indications of his existence in Woojin’s life.

Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know. I'm ready for all the stones thrown at me.
> 
> Two other things I wanna share:  
> 1\. We are reaching around 2/3 of the plot. It moves slower than I thought, hope you find the pacing is OK T.T  
> 2\. Just checked the statistics in my profile. Can't believe I have written more than 100,000 words since last July when I first joined AO3 OMGGGGGG. Balancing real life duties and writing is hard T.T, but I hope I can maintain this delicate balance in the coming future T.T
> 
> Anyway, comments are always welcomed. Will beta and proofread soon. Thank you for your tolerance. XOXO.


	10. Year 2010 - Year 2011 (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I don't make a cut here the chapter will be super lengthy, and I think this chapter is a bridge, so as the one after this. Anyway, please enjoy the update. Will beta soon. XOXO!

**2010**

“So, we talked about the theories this morning, right? As I said, Eyeliner is the soul of makeup, especially in media and performance makeup, and it’s always the easiest part where you mess up. How you draw it will be tailored upon that person’s eye shape, and what kind of effect you want to bring about.”

The group of students, consisting of around 15 people, silently nod their heads.

“Great, now — time for practical application. Can I have a volunteer for demonstration?”

Hesitant responses are anticipated by the instructor. He permits a wry grin, and picks the student he first lays eyes on.

“What about you?” The man holds out his hand towards the student on the first row as an invitation, “what’s your name?”

“Jihoon.”

“Great, Jihoon-shi, please come forward.”

Jihoon slowly trots towards the chair at the front of the classroom, while the instructor takes out all sorts of make-up products and brushes that Jihoon has never seen.

“Now, look, Jihoon-shi has upturned eyes. For an everyday look, we can simply line the outer halves of his upper eyelids. Like this, and a thinner line will suffice, ” the instruction explains while he strokes Jihoon’s eyelids slowly with an slanted brush.

“But if you want a defined, night look, and I suppose that’s what you’ll be asked to do most of the time when you work as a make-up artist in the future, then you can extend the line out and up at the corner to elongate the width, and we can also line the outer corner of his lower lash line to enhance symmetry.”

Except concealers, Jihoon knows nothing about make-up. A lot of other information is conferred to the class while the teacher continues to explain, with the use of Jihoon’s face as a demonstration.

He loathes how he cannot see himself or jot any notes with the position is he is at. There is a fear that he will forget this soon after; he is here to learn, and he really wants takeaways.

“Perfect. Of course, that’s just the tip of the iceberg on how we can apply eyeliners. It varies, and eyeliners don’t work alone. It is complemented by all sorts of other things, eyeshadows, shimmer, brow pencils, you-name-it.” the instructor continues, as he points at Jihoon’s eye creases, “Just a glimpse of what I mean, for example, say, if we want to add depth to Jihoon’s eyes, then we can first apply a light shade across the eyelid, then we apply a medium share to the outer corner. We will discuss this later in depth with demonstrations, so don’t worry. Now, can we give a round of applause to Jihoon for volunteering first?”

Jihoon strides back to his seat with an embarrassed smile, and the instructor speaks up again, “Now, Time to practice before I stuff you with more information that you may not even remember. Can everyone form groups of two? You’ll apply eyeliners on each other, and we’ll start with the basics — a simple straight line on the upper eyelid first. You may have the experience of doing thatfor yourself, but trust me, it’s not the same. It’s gonna be a massive struggle for some of you before you perfect it, like what I used to suffer.”

-

The lesson ends two hours later, and Jihoon’s upper eyelids are filled with smudges, thanks to his group-mate’s shaky hands. He wipes them off in the bathroom with haste, and heads back to the classroom for his bag. By then, only the instructor is left, tidying up all the used brushes by himself.

Jihoon never takes a detailed look of the instructor for the whole lesson. There are more important things to pay attention to. He sees new faces all the time in the market, and eventually grows numb to remembering any of them. Yet, there is something different about the instructor. Despite the sharp corners of his upper eyelids. he’s soft, almost exceedingly so, beneath his smooth forehead, He’s just casually rinsing the brushes with water, but he still looks effortlessly handsome.

The instructor becomes aware that there are a pair of eyes on him only after a while. He quickly lifts up his head, and there he sees Jihoon, darting his eyes away with slight embarrassment.

“Oh, Jihoon, you are still here,” greets the instructor, “That bag must be yours.”

“Yeah,” says Jihoon as he marches towards his seat.

“Hope you find the lesson useful today.”

“It is. Thank you.”

Jihoon is ready to leave with the bag on his hand, but resists the urge to flee immediately when he hears the voice behind him.

“Just curious, Jihoon,” starts the instructor, with the black T-shirt fitting dangerously well on his wide shoulders, “What drives you to professional make-up training?”

“Um…, just want to acquire a skill. I have little exposure with make up, but I remember one of my friends telling me that I’m quite good at applying concealers. Haha, so I joined.”

“Your friend is not wrong actually, I see that you pick up things quite quickly for the last few weeks.”

Jihoon cannot help but emits an innocent smile, “Thank you.”

“Usually male students struggle more in the beginning because they have lesser experience with make up. That’s my personal experience also when I first learn it, my hands wobble like crazy the first time I apply eyeliner on someone else. Feels like drawing Ws on the eyelid rather than a straight line.”

“But your hands are so steady just then,” Jihoon recalls.

“That’s what you acquire after practice.”

“It must be,” Jihoon smiles, “I don’t know. I just feel like… make-up is more than just technical skills. It’s an expression, a statement, an assertion. After mastering all these skills, I guess I still have a lot to learn even after striking a straight dark line on my client’s eyelids.”

“You must be someone who excels everything in real life with such diligence,” Daniel compliments.

The eyes of his instructor becomes more than piercing, and Jihoon notices there is a change of atmosphere that he is not acquainted with.

“Not really, I suck at real life,” Jihoon stutters, unsure of why hen starts to feel nervous.

“You won’t be.”

“I hope so too, …I probably should go now,” Jihoon prompts, stealing one last glance from the corner of his eye, “Thank you again. Mr. Kang.”

“Just call me Daniel will do.”

“Sure, bye then, Daniel-shi.”

“Bye."

-

The number of tourists visiting the market surges remarkably ever since March.

With the increased workload, Woojin could feel that he is slowly gaining back his appetite, even though he has yet to recover the weight loss he suffered in the last two months.

Whenever he took a bite of food in the first week after _he_ vanished, there was simply an innate urge inside his body to throw up. He could almost smell the stench inside his mouth all day long, and the sticky sensation on his teeth lingered even after cups of water.

He thought he connected a part of Jihoon others have never felt, a part of his soul that he never wanted to let out of the bag — but all of these reactions from him now seem to be nothing more than illusions.

The grief bled into his flesh and blood, and it still hits him hard in waves. Scenes with Jihoon still ran rampage in his brain once he lay on his bed, even on days where he was worn out by his daytime work, and sleepless nights simply ensued. The market is always full of people, but there is none who he feels connected to. None of his friends are nearby, and some of them are gone, for good.

Every infinitely minor matter: like walking pass Gucci in Gangnam, buying bread in Paris Baguette, wandering by the rooftop, adding extra cucumber in his kimbap, tidying up the comic book collection by the shelf, and so on, still reminds him of Jihoon.

Gradually, he gives free rein to his own imagination as a coping measure — that Jihoon will suddenly pop up one day in the market, and they will cry on each other’s shoulder, starting everything afresh.

Just a second of the visualisation of such buttresses his view to survive another day. 

It feel like this is the reality to him eventually. No, it _is_ the reality to him — that Jihoon is still here; operating the food stall opposite to him everyday, moonlight his food trolley by night, mocking his taste for cucumbers and grassy stuff.

Summer is here, and he finally sees, hears, touches, and talks with Jihoon again.

He is sure.

-

Jisung is once again back to college.

Back in Seoul, he was a practising paediatrician, and he enjoys his job. Yet, a foreign medicine degree does not qualify him to practise the same in America.

He needs a medicine degree done in the U.S.

It was, of course, slightly irritating to study the subject all over again. Only after he realises that entering med school in the U.S. requires a previous degree anyway does he become less bothered, for the trouble now seems to be inevitable.

Still, college is always the time where everyone’s schedule is cramped, including Jisung’s. It seems insurmountably difficult to just answer a phone call, to make a medical appointment, orto reply to a non-work-related email.

His latest update about anyone in Seoul comes from his meet-up with Jihoon last year. After that, neither of them to have to email to each other, nor has Jisung talked with anyone else. Communication with anyone in Korea simply comes to a stop, until one day, to his astonishment, he receives update from Woojin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _ Hyung, _
> 
> _ Long chat no chat, miss you! How’s US? _
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _ Woojin _

 

Jisung blinks a few times to make sure he is not mistaken. It’s long known that Woojin is remarkably backward when it comes to technological stuff. Ever since he moved to America, he has only received one email from Woojin — the one where he said that Jihoon has opened an email account for him.

> _ Woojin, _
> 
> _ Good. You? How’s Seoul? _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Jisung _

 

Woojin replies in less than a week.

 

> _ Hyung, _
> 
> _ Everyone’s doing fine, me, Jihoon, Jinyoung^^ The market is abuzz with people these days. Come back in summer to meet Jinyoung’s boyfriend! _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Woojin _

 

Apart from the contrived liveliness from his words that actually worries him, Jisung is more than surprised to see that Jihoon is still working in the market.

 

>  
> 
> _ Woojin, _
> 
> _ Oh, so Jihoon is still here? _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Jisung _

 

 Jisung then gets the fastest reply ever from Woojin.

 

> _ Hyung, _
> 
> _ Why won’t he? Guess that we will always be happy foes. I threw trash to his stall yesterday and today he copied my menu as a retaliation. Roar. Now we tend to hang out at the rooftop with turnip-bowling. My favourite pastime when I was young. Ah. Good old days. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Woojin _

 

Jisung still finds it extraordinary that Jihoon chooses to stay at the market, and there is only one way to verify the truth.

 

> _ Dear Jinyoung, _
> 
> _ Hi, this is Jisung. Long time no chat, how are you these days? You back to the market? Also, I know asking this is a bit weird: Is Jihoon still in the market? _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Best Wishes, _
> 
> _ Jisung _

 

Jinyoung replies to him on the same day.

 

> _ Jisung-hyung, _
> 
> _ Yes! Long time no see! Doing fine in the UK, thank you! Didn’t go back to Seoul in summer break cause Daehwi (my new bf, btw) wanted to go to Dubrovnik (Gimme your address for postcard!) _
> 
> _ Jihoon has left. Dad told me that he let the stall to someone else. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ See you soon! _
> 
> _ Jinyoung _

 

To Jisung, the situation now seems to be very alarming.

 

> _ Jinyoung, _
> 
>  
> 
> _ So Jihoon left, right? _
> 
> _ Okay. I’m a bit concerned. I know that Jihoon’s departure must have broken Woojin’s heart. Check the email that I forward to you. It’s by Woojin, he seems to be in staunch denial of the reality._
> 
> _I hope I’m just over-worried. I certainly can’t fully assess his conditions simply through emails, but such strong denials with vivid description of his imagination could be signs of mental health issues. I’m not exaggerating. _
> 
> _ I’m not asking you to shove the truth in his face, simply because we don’t know how serious the problem is. If things have already become serious enough, doing this could make him overreact, potentially with disastrous results. _
> 
> _ For now, please contact him frequently to make sure he’s fine, but don’t reveal that you have knowledge of what I’ve sent you. He probably just needs someone to talk to. _
> 
> _ I’ll continue to write to him, and please visit your best friend and make sure he’s still fine whenever you go back. I won’t be back for the next few years cause I need to do summer placements to fulfil my degree. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ (Please keep this between you and me.) _
> 
> _ P.S. see my address below. _
> 
> _ Jisung _
> 
>  

* * *

**2011**

Times flies at a ruthless speed, the 1-year vocational training course is over, and Jihoon becomes a full-time apprentice under Daniel after the latter’s invitation.

Daniel seems to hold a much more expansive clientele than Jihoon reckons. They are practically glued together every day to visit different studios and other locations — Magazine photoshoots, catalogues, fashion shows, television show recordings, fundraising galas, etc. This is undoubtedly something nice. The industry is all about connections, and Jihoon is sure he will acquire some after meeting celebrities and key opinion leaders frequently. 

Yet, behind all the glamour, not all celebrities are as nice as they seem to be in front of the camera. Tough competition also means that people could be cut-throat and aggressive. This is the part where he misses the most about his previous job — the kind-hearted, friendly people; and Jihoon dares not drill further as to whether he misses the vibe of these people in general, or he only misses _one person_ in particular.

With no room for mistake, the job can be overwhelmingly stressful at times. Everything that he does has to be impeccable in the first take. He is thankful that Daniel is very tolerant, but, sadly,Daniel is never his client.

“Powder brush, please,” says Daniel as he puts out his hand.

Jihoon quickly rummages through the colossal, black make-up box set and hands Daniel the wooden-handled brush.

“This is a blush brush,” Daniel smiles.

“Sor…sorry,” Jihoon visibly swallows. It is his second time today where he hands Daniel the wrong make-up tool. He dives himself back to the unorganised mess again, while Daniel applies highlight on the female model’s nose bridge.

The experienced make-up artist adjusts his application by the reflection on the mirror, and clearly written on the model’s face is that she is irritated by Jihoon’s clumsiness.

“He’s new,” Daniel quickly soothes before one last dab on her nose.

“Sorry,” Jihoon immediately bows.

The backstage of a fashion show is ten times more hectic than the busiest days in the market. Models shuttle back and forth in skimpy outfits, some sitting in a studio chair with hair, make up and nail techs all going at it simultaneously. Hair pins and aluminium foil scatter on the floor, while the sound of hairdryers and shouts from backstage helpers saturate the air.

Jihoon thought he could finally witness the famous scene in movies: a highly important person in the fashion industry throwing tantrum at the backstage. Yet, that is quickly debunked when he realises efficiency is the driving principle here. Doing anything that slows down that is an ultimate blunder that no one will ever forgive.

The fashion show is a success, even though it is very taxing on everyone invovled.

“You don’t have to be so nervous, you know” Daniel initiates, packing up all brushes by the mirror, “it’s just work. Don’t let it encroach on your mental health.”

“Sorry.”

To Jihoon’s surprise, Daniel pats his head gently, “I won’t always be nearby, right? Someday, you’ll leave me. If you are always that nervous, I will be worried about you.”

Jihoon can only dart his eyes away, “I know…”

“If only that day never came,” Daniel eyes dotes on the blush on Jihoon’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few things to note:
> 
> 1\. Comments are welcomed as always, and I'm once again ready for all the stones thrown at me.
> 
> 2\. This is (and will be) the darkest chapter in the whole fic (and possibly the darkest I have ever written) hahaha.
> 
> 3\. My brain is now filled with ideas for another new fic. WHYYYYY. I have long wanted to write something light-hearted and fluffy, but I always fail to steer my fic into that direction every time. Now that this fic gets (seemingly) darker, fluffy plots suddenly occupy my mind ROAR.
> 
> 4\. Not sure if I should succumb to the temptation of starting a new fic and alternating my updates between fics, or finish this one first before digging a new trench for myself HAHAHAH.
> 
> 5\. Anyway, won't abandon this fic for sure. Completing a fic is always the most satisfying part HAHAHAHA.
> 
> Thank you for your tolerance. XOXO.  
> Will update soon!


	11. Year 2011(2) - Year 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just cut my chapter into two again. (yes this remains part of the bridge I guess) Sorry for that T.T Will proofread soon^^

**2011**

It is another ordinary, hectic day at the market, until a familiar figure stands next Woojin’s stall.

Jinyoung.

“Woah, what brings you here,” says Woojin, catching a glimpse of Jinyoung’s grin before focusing back to work.

“Kinda miss you," his friend replies, rocking his heels back and forth, “I’m coming back for the break.”

Woojin cannot help but frowns.  “I wanna puke bruh.”

The sarcastic reply is indistinguishable from their usual conversations, but Jinyoung clearly remembers Jisung’s emails. He walks towards the back of Woojin’s stall, slacking on the armchair, trying acting as nonchalant as he can. Yet, the next sentence from his mouth simply unwinds his effort.

“You okay?”

“…Why am I not okay?” Woojin scowls.

“Er…, just asking generally?”

“Am fine.”

“Just find me if you need help."

Jinyoung mentally curses himself for possibly revealing too much, just as Woojin finally leaves his eyes from the seaweed in the washing sink and turns to stare at his friend.

“…You are weird today,” Woojin bluntly points out.

Cutting straight to the chase seems to the best policy. “I am talking about Jihoon,” JInyoung breaks in, with his hands clasp his hands behind.

The imminent silence between them is glaring, and Woojin's face turns serious before he starts.

“ _Things that you can lose so easily were never meant to be yours._ ” Woojin utters flatly, with a hint of helplessness, “I read this from a self-help book last year when no one’s around. Of course, to understand the statement is one thing, but to digest and accept this is another. I… I still miss him, dearly. I was devastated, ruined. But…, I’m better now, I’m on my way, so don’t worry.”

The difference between Woojin’s emails and him in person is obvious. Woojin looks perfectly fine here, but Jinyoung understands that people who need help can disguise themselves perfectly. Mental stability is always a matter of degree, and people can blow hot and cold.

Asking Woojin about the emails is at the tip of Jinyoung’s tongue. Yet, he is quickly reminded by Jisung’s warning that piercing the veil could be disastrous.

Further, He has to give way to the possibility that Woojin is really recovering, and, if so, there should be no need to rub salt on how wounded he used to feel, or how he used to do irrational stuff to negate the truth.

Still, Jinyoung chooses to play safe and tests the water.

“So…, like, how do you usually cope with it?”

“I just do whatever that helps me move on.”

“Like… what?”

“Like…, I don’t know? Sleeping? Listening to music? Reading?”

“That’s it?”

“And a lot of other stupid shit, okay? Like wandering around, sobbing on bed, yada yada,” Woojin grunts, rolling his eyes.

“That’s all?”

“…What are you trying to ask here?” Woojin challenges, eyebrows furrowed.

“Nothing. Just asking.” Jinyoung has no clue what he should ask now, so he backtracks to his pseudo-nonchalant attitude again, “You wanna come to London someday? Daehwi’s roommate moved out, you can stay there if you need accommodation.”

“… Probably not,” Woojin puts down his head and fixes his gaze in the bowl of seaweed in front of him again, “money, bro. I’m not you.”

 

**2012**

Jinyoung recounts his ‘rather mundane’ chat with Woojin to Jisung using emails. Though skeptical, sincr Woojin’s subsequent emails with him also contain no mentions of Jihoon at all, Jisung’s anxiety also withers gradually. 

In fact, his exchange with Woojin also becomes infrequent. His degree is eating up all his available time, and most of the time Woojin’s emails simply states that  nothing’s new, and he’s doing well.

While there is no other proof that Woojin is really doing as fine as he claims, Jisung’s own formative years can definitely confirm that the market is NEVER a place with new things happening everyday. Probably really nothing is popping up in the market, and Woojin is really slowly moving away from his grief.

Still, being a cautious person, he asks Jinyoung to look after Woojin, and keep his wits about his friend.

Jinyoung does this by his own way: by introducing more dates to Woojin, by setting him up with different people, by hinting who is single and available in his social circle — to Woojin’s dismay.

“Do you mind if I find you for help tomorrow about my year-end project?” asks Jinyoung with a serious look.

“About what? Korean food again?” Woojin teases, “You go to college in the UK for that?”

“Tsk, I wish.” Jinyoung rolls his eyes, “I took a course; called Histories of Urbanism and… something-something, for my major in Urban Studies. Gotta make comparisons between this market and Borough Market in London for the course-end project, with the focus on the regulation of space and tourism gentrification — that sort of stuff.”

“I don’t even get half of what you have just said, seriously.”

“Just agree to be interviewed will do a lot of help. Our group needs some interviewees at both places.”

“Why not,” Woojin shrugs, heading back to work again, hardly noticing  Jinyoung’s triumphant smirk.

He expects Jinyoung to pop up the following day, but the one walking close to his stall is another person he has not seen for 3 years.

That person is here alone, without Jinyoung nearby — an ominous sign.

“Hi,” greets the man with a diplomatic smile.

“…Hi.” Woojin replies with hesitance. “Hyungseob, right? I remember you. Where is Jinyoung?”

“He claims he’s not feeling well,” Hyungseob states almost emotionlessly, “so Daehwi went to the clinic with him.”

_Yeah it must be_. Woojin can’t believe he has fallen into Jinyoung’s yet another excuse to set him up with other guys.

“Oh,” he comments vaguely.

“Mind if I interview you alone?”

Woojin contorts a carefully neutral expression, pretending to be unbothered.

“Not like I can say no right now, I guess.”

Yet, the poor acting does not escape Hyungseob’s eyes; He releases a snort, a reaction far from Woojin’s expectation, and answers with a cynical smirk, “Trust me, you are NOT the only one suffering here.”

Even though the abrupt change of tone catches Woojin off-guard, somehow, Woojin feels slightly relieved.

Hyungseob seems to understand what is happening.

“Daehwi exhausts every single possibility to set me up with different people, most of the time without both parties of that set-up realising,” Hyungseob reveals, “your face just then looks exactly the same as those other guys who find out that they got set up.”

“Jinyoung does exactly the same.  _Argh_.” It is a liberating discovery, and Woojin loosens into a big smile.

“I bet,” Hyungseob sneers, leaning against Woojin's counter, “they two are more anxious about my love life than my parents, always doing this kind of sneaky stuff. It’s not that I don’t understand Daehwi’s intention, but I just wish they understand what do I mean by  _I just broke up and I’m not ready to meet other guys yet_.”

The last sentence reminds Woojin of  _the person_  who used to rent the stall opposite to him. He lifts his chin and gazes at the currently vacant counter. His mind is ready to agree with Hyungseob, but the latter follows-up first.

“Bet that Jinyong is doing the same to you too?” Hyungseob turns his head to take a glance what Woojin was looking at.

“He is, but I…,” Woojin finally lets go of his gaze at the empty stand, putting down his head witha wry grin, “kinda get why he does this, so I can’t bring myself to be angry.”

“Sounds like we share the same situation,” Hyungseob turns his head to the empty stall behind him again, “someone here? Must be hard to get over someone after break-up when you have to see him at work every day.”

Perhaps It’s always easier to be honest with a complete stranger with no knowledge of one’s past, or that Hyungseob's candidness does the magic, Woojin finds himself answering defeatedly, “We didn’t break up, cause we didn’t even start. And he’s not here anymore. It’s just… none of these makes this easier to get over.”

“You will, everyone’s been there. Letting go is never done at an instant, it's 3-staged,” Hyungseob assures, “You are overwhelmed with grief that you hardly wished to live at first; Then you start to convince yourself that you have forgotten about him, but your heart still hurts.“

“Guess I’m right at this stage,” Woojin mocks himself.

“Not like I’m not at this stage either,” Hyungseob connects, “but I stand by the contention that time and disappointment will slowly erode the affection in your heart — as long as you allow it. Eventually his name will just be the same as another pedestrian on the street, with no meaning to you at all.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Of course it is, like doing every single thing on Earth,” Hyungseob relates, “but you will. Like how I know I also will. Wounds will heal, and people will live. Anyway, let’s not be so meta. I'm not supposed to be here doing Chicken Soup for the Soul. Can we digress no more and go back to why I’m today?”

“Sure.”

* * *

“You know, I’m actually… not surprised?” Sungwoon yelps as he stirs his cup of tea, “apparently he’s into you from the beginning, I told you. Did you confess? Or Daniel?”

“Him,” Jihoon scratches the back of his neck with a shy grin, “on the last day of my apprenticeship.”

“I’m soooooooo happy for you. Let me see,” Sungwoon counts with his fingers, “4 months?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon confirms.

“And you get to see him every day when you go to work, right?” Sungwoon prods, “Stable job, good-looking, dresses well. I'm jealous. And he has a car, which is super important.”

“Man, I can drive too. I used to drive lorries back in the day. Also, quite the contrary, we rarely see each other at work actually,” Jihoon jabs, “He likes fashion magazine photoshoots and runway shows, the avant-garde stuff, So he works on that a lot, and also some make-up jobs for celebrities which pays. Apparently I’m not experienced for those stuff; I just do whatever I’m booked for. We only work at the same place when both of us are booked by the same client. It only happened once.”

“Still, there is such a chance where you two meet at work, right?”

“…yeah, but, for real, it’s not as romantic as it sounds. You scramble to get things done in a hurry when you are on duty. Won’t be in the mood for any lovey-dovey stuff,” Jihoon explains, “I haven’t built my name out there yet. There’s little to no room for mistake, or you risk not getting booked next time. Quite stressful if you ask me.”

“It must be. You are so much thinner,” Sungwoon states with a trace of worry, pointing at the piece of lemon cheesecake in front of him. “Eat more please.”

“I’m good,” Jihoon declines. He stares at his own cup of tea, but he senses no appetite upon remembering his work tomorrow. “But, yeah, but if I want to work in this industry, this is career-building, so it’s rewarding after all.”

“I know, but are you _happy_ though?”

“…,” Jihoon exhales harshly, “Let’s just say I am willing to do this for the sake of a better self in the future. And when you do something willingly, at least there’s a sense of comfort, among other things.”

“And you have a boyfriend working in the same field who can guide you,” Sungwoon supplements.

"yes, he’s a very nice working partner, a very helpful and responsible colleague.”

“So, a good boyfriend?”

“Um…, yes, even though I don’t really get to know the personal side of him until we’re together. Haha.”

“What do you mean?” Sungwoon furrows his eyebrows.

“Like, we see things very differently.”

“For example?”

“I can’t come up with a particular one right now,” Jihoon divulges, “but, I mean, you must’ve known that getting used to someone new in your life is really not as effortless as the popular media portrays. It’s a proactive and unending process that requires a lot of communication, and the willingness to compromise.”

“Of course it’s not easy,” Sungwoon agrees.

“And it’s more difficult when both of us are people who voice our opinion on a lot of things, with a stressful job each.”

“It must be…,” Sungwoon does not want to dwell on this topic any further, “you’ll be fine.”

The two shares a second of silence, and he initiates another topic to propel the conversation. “by the way, just curious, you ever been back to the market?”

It is a confounding chance of topic, one that Jihoon is not ready to discuss. He shakes his head, staring at the cheesecake on the plate, and suddenly finds the need to stuff himself with food to fill in the silence.

“Not sure how you think,” Sungwoon follows, “but, you know, I don’t see the time you spent there as completely wasteful.”

“There are good times there,” Jihoon answers amidst a quick bite, “and memories become sweeter over time.”

“Miss that place?”

“I have my way of coping with it,” Jihoon stuffs himself with another bite, wreathing in a faraway grin, "weird way maybe. Oh gees, what time is it?”

“Half-past two.”

“Shit shit shit, I’m gonna be late. Daniel dated me for bowling.”

-

It was Jihoon’s idea to go bowling, even though he is an amateur. His previous bowling experience tells him that the alley is just another place for fun. People visit that place for a good time, not for victory. Whether he is scoring high at the leaderboard or not is never his concern.

That, however, does not seem to be the case for Daniel. To Jihoon’s surprise, his boyfriend has a bowling glove with him, and far more in-depth knowledge in this sport than he ever reveals.

“Just swing your arm like a pendulum and let the ball go, but with your arms straight,” Daniel explains as he steps away from the foul line.

“Okay,” Jihoon bears this in his mind. He places the ball right in front of his face, something that he always see when professional bowlers adjust their aim, even though he has no idea what does it really do.

“Don’t use too much strength. You are supposed to bowl the ball down the lane, not toss it.”

“Gotcha.”

“Also, stand with your heels several inches from the foul line when you do that.”

“Good.”

Simply are there too many rules to be executed simultaneously for Jihoon as a beginner. He wishes he can remember all perfectly, even though gripping the ball correctly as instructed by Daniel is exceedingly difficult to start with. He releases the ball down the lane with a push-away, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, it rolls to the gutter.

“Relax,” Daniel reminds, taking his turn by approaching the lane, “By the way, I need your help about something, about work.”

“About work?” Jihoon wonders, “What is it?”

Daniel swings his ball out as he answers, “I had a job on the day after tomorrow. Make-up for TV show recording in SBS, but you know…Oh god, that’s such a lousy shot.”

“You will be in Tokyo by then,” Jihoon quickly supplements from behind, “for the fashion week.”

“Exactly, and I need a substitute,” Daniel explains, stepping away, “You free from 10 to 4 on that day? They need people who can do everyday make-up, and sit through the whole recording cause they’ll need to do a lot of retouches. Oh, it’s also a recurring job actually; but my other schedules crash with theirs too often. If you are fine with it, then I’ll tell them that you will take my place starting from next week. If not, I’ll just find someone else.”

Jihoon sees no harm of getting booked for a recurring job at all, “I should be free.”

“Great,” Daniel responds with an uplifting tone, “Your turn.”

Jihoon strolls to the conveyor track behind, where the bowling bowls are returned from the other side of the bowling lane.

Amongst the mono-coloured spheres, there he sees a unique one, one that is oddly familiar with fond reminiscence.

A bowling ball with a watermelon design.

Jihoon cannot help but giggles. It definitely reminds him the days where bowling comes with no rules, where bowling comes with no pins but turnips, where bowling comes with no balls but watermelons.

He hugs the ball with both arms. As carefree as he can be, he throws the ball down the lane with his upper body bent, just like what kids usually do when they bowl the first time.

And all the pins by the other side fell down almost at the same time.

“See?!” he yells with a laugh, “a strike!”. The joy sends Jihoon to jump up and down with triumph, waving his hand above his head as he steps back to the waiting zone, but Daniel does not seem to share the glee.

“What,” Jihoon puts down his hands upon seeing his boyfriend’s lack of enthusiasm.

“You should follow the rules, you know,” Daniel answers, slightly bothered. “There is no use even if you get a strike by doing this. You won’t improve.”

“Er…, I was just doing that for fun,” Jihoon tries to soothe, squeezing a smile, “I mean, we aren’t working. We’re playing, right?”

“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t play seriously,” Daniel counters before he steps to the foul line for his turn.

Jihoon can only stare at Daniel’s back, biting his lower lip, with nothing coherent formed at the tip of his tongue.

-

It was only until that day during his trip to the broadcasting company does Jihoon realise that something is not right with Daniel’s job.

He supposed that he would be doing make-up for extras or backup dancers, — one of the run-of-the-mill tasks that he’s often asked to perform, but Daniel _never_ takes up jobs of that kind. 

He texted Daniel, but his boyfriend is obviously on the plane to Tokyo.

“Um…, sorry,” asks Jihoon at the reception, “I should be heading to Studio 14, how should I go there?”

The receptionist points the direction and Jihoon follows. He steps into the studio, and is immediately interrupted by one of the staff.

“ _Name please_?” asks the man with a sharp tone, “why are you here?”

“Park Jihoon, for make-up. Er…, Kang Daniel’s substitute,” Jihoon quickly explains.

The man hastily flips through the papers on the clipboard in his hands. “Oh…. Jihyo-shi’s new make-up stylist. This way.”

The name “Jihyo” is sobering. He trails by the man’s escort, and passes through a few famous faces — Yoo Jae-suk, Ji Suk-jin, Lee Kwang-soo, Kim Jong-kook, etc. The familiar combination tickles Jihoon’s brain; He has definitely watched this collection of artists almost every week on TV.

_It can’t be._

“Jihyo-shi, your new make-up artist is here,” shouts the man.

The person, whom Jihoon supposes that she is his client, turns around.

Jihoon finally understands what does it mean by starstruck. His client was right there, only a few feet away from Jihoon. She has a face that can grace any billboard or magazine cover, in her understated glamour she looks camera-ready already without any make-up.

It is none other than Song Ji-hyo; and Jihoon finally realises he _really_ is at the recording studio for Running Man.

“Good morning,” the famed artist greets with a grin. There was an elegance to her, calmness in her body movements and a softness in her voice.

“Good… good morning,” Jihoon timidly greets back. He unfolds his make-up box in a haste, laying out all make-up tools, gaze sheepishly interchanges repeatedly between Jihyo’s face and her reflection on the mirror.

It is his first time doing make-up for a A-list celebrity, and, needless to say, his anxiety kicks in again.

“Daniel must have told you what’s the usual routine, right?” Jihyo asks gently.

_No he did not, he didn’t even tell I would be doing make-up for you_. Jihoon pretends to be occupied by organising the brushes, just to buy some time for an appropriate answer.

“Er…”

Jihyo immediately finds out that the answer is the exact opposite. She brushes the strands of hair on her forehead and smiles, “Never mind. I just need my brows and foundation.”

Jihoon releases a nervous smile, even though in his mind he has already slapped Daniel’s face a thousand times for not explaining this job clearly.

The make-up routine is simple, especially when his client’s skin is unblemished like porcelain, but Jihoon’s brain still constantly searches for signs of potential dissatisfaction. He fills in the tiny patches within the celebrities’e eyebrows one last time and steps back for a look.

“I think… I think your look is ready, Jihyo-shi,” Jihoon manages to utter. His left hand puts down the brow pencil, but then he can't figure out what to do with it, so instead it clasps and unclasps with the other hand as if they are in constant need of touch and reassurance.

“Is it… is it good? Anything I can add?”

“It looks fine,” Jihyo smiles, staring at her own reflection, “Daniel’s been my mark-up stylist for this show since the pilot. I trust his recommendation, which is you.”

“Thank you. Um…,” Jihoon eyes flicker quickly between the celebrity and other random objects, “please tell me if you need any retouches, or you’re not happy with anything or… yeah.”

“You know, Daniel used to as nervous as you too when he first got the job.” Jihyo laughs, finishing her cup of tea, “Just chill, Jihoon. And, yes, be prepared for retouches, and travel with me for all those outdoor shootings. My make-up will run soon, cause, I mean — _Duh_ , We are in Running Man. Of course I’ll need to run.” 

Jihyo's attitude finally eases Jihoon's anxiety. He chuckles a little, and gazes at the smile on his client's face.

There is a sense of well-being at that moment inside his soul, and it takes him another day to figure out what exactly is that feeling.

Job satisfaction — something he has never felt before.         

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are welcomed. A few more things to say:
> 
> 1\. The inclusion of Song Ji-hyo (and her appearance in Running Man) into this fic has been planned ever since the start. I'm a fan of Running Man. It is desolate to hear that the father of Ji-Suk Jin (one of the cast members) passed away recently. My deepest condolence to Ji Suk-Jin and his grieving family.
> 
> 2\. We are reaching 75%-80% of the fic. 
> 
> 3\. This fic was meant to be around 20000 words long but now it's reaching a double. Guess I'll have to evaluate my estimation skills again. Haha.
> 
> Will update soon. Thank you for your tolerance. XOXO.


	12. Year 2013 - Year 2015(1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long absence. This chapter was meant to be two seperate ones, but I don't know where should I make the cut, so it becomes a (comparatively) longer one. Enjoy!
> 
> Will beta soon! XOXO.

**2013**

Love can be passionate, or long-lasting, but rarely both at the same time.

It’s been one year since Jihoon and Daniel are dating, and Jihoon can only hope their relationship is the latter kind.

Last year, when Sungwoon told him that it’s always preferable to find a boyfriend who owns a car, Jihoon simply thought his cousin was being weird. Now he finally understands why: When you can’t come up with anything to say with each other, but you still want to meet up — a joyride in the car is the best haven for both. Once you hop on to the car and drive around, even though the ride is completely aimless, it suddenly becomes a date, despite the lack of any communication.

That’s exactly what Jihoon and Daniel are doing, and the frequency of this kind of ‘date’ increases significantly in the last three months. Jihoon blames it on their busy schedules, and shuts down the insecurity in his mind that it’s because of something else.

“Wanna grab some food before you head to work?” asks Daniel.

Jihoon does not feel like he has an option. His boyfriend is already parking the car as he asks, outside the Chinese restaurant that they frequent.

“Sure.”

They sit by the same table near the entrance, and Jihoon glances at the menu that he can recite. His eyes sweep the room and land on Daniel, who is taking out his laptop to reply to his emails.

“You know what I want.”

“Yeah.”

Jihoon soon orders the food, and only clicking sounds from Daniel’s laptop are heard from their table since then.

The silence between them is unnerving, but the scarier part is that Jihoon finds himself getting used to it. Daniel is right in front of him, less than a few feet away, but Jihoon feels that their hearts are on the opposite sides of the world. Even Jihoon does not remember when does his intention to share, to relate to each other, is vanished, or when do their dates become so formulaic.

Still, he can’t help but challenges himself whether he is overthinking again — a cycle that he often undergoes. Jihoon shoots a glance at Daniel, who is still absorbed into his work, before the vibration in his pocket interrupts the eye contact.

He quickly picks up the phone upon seeing the caller.

“ _Yes, Jihyo-ssi._ ”

“ _Yes…, yes… Oh, sure_.”

“ _Two hours earlier…, that’s 3 o’clock?_ ”

Jihoon’s stares at his watch, just as the waiter comes by and serves the two their food. It’s 2 p.m. now. If he is to accommodate Jihyo’s schedule change, it is about time to leave.

“ _Sure, no problem. I’ll see you soon then. Goodbye,_ ” Jihoon tucks his phone back to his bag. Hequickly stuffs himself with the bowl of congee in front him, only to find it incredibly bland.

“Mmm…, they add in too much salt,” Jihoon comments after a spoonful, “should’ve add some ginger for a layered taste.”

“Really?” Daniel’s eyes remain glued to his laptop.

“Yeah.”

Jihoon cannot tell if it is because of the unpleasant food, or Daniel’s lukewarm response, but his appetite is instantly lost.

His boyfriend finally tears his gaze away from the computer, and sees Jihoon wiping his mouth with tissue paper.

“You full already?”

“Yeah.”

“You should eat more,” Daniel takes a bite of his fried noodles, retuning his focus back to his laptop, “thought you said the congee has a layered taste? Which is good, right?”

“I…,” Jihoon is too mentally drained to correct Daniel, “gotta go. Schedule change.”

“Drive you there?”.

“I can go by myself.”

“Okie, bye-bye.” Daniel says nonchalantly, sparing no glimpses on anything but his computer screen.

-

Jihoon heads to the studio again. Yet, His heart is not at work right now (and he knows that), it is stuck at the vapid conversation between Daniel and him in the cafe.

It’s been almost an year since he started working for Song Jihyo. He cannot remember how many times has he swiped her cheeks with his kabuki brush, nor is he aware that his client is looking at him fixedly through the reflection on the mirror.

“What’s bothering you,” Jihyo marvels, turning her eyes to stare at Jihoon’s distant look.

Even though he is getting closer with Jihyo throughout the year, it is never a good sign when your client discovers that you are not focused. He quickly switches to his dark brown brow-pencil, and starts working on Jihyo’s eyebrows.

“Er…, nothing, sorry,” Jihoon stutters.

“No, tell me, what’s bothering you,” Jihyo comforts, “You rarely behave like this.”

“I’m fine,” Jihoon squeezes a smile.

“Well, honey, I’m unconvinced,” Jihyo counters, closing her eyes while Jihoon fills in the spare areas at the end of her brows, “maybe I’ll tell you what’s bothering me first then. Our programme director is struggling where should we visit next.”

“Considering that the show has been on air for 5 years,” Jihoon comments casually, “I’m not entirely surprised?”

“We’re kinda at a bottleneck stage, like, we want something very Korea, but also comes with an international appeal, cause we have a huge foreign fan base.”

“Easy,” Jihoon asserts, “Gwangjang Market.”

“OH RIGHT!” Jihyo widens her eyes, and the flint instantly causes Jihoon to lose track of where his last brow-pencil stroke was on, “you are genius, honey. Great. Now, your turn.”

“I’m slightly unsettled by how you agree with my idea so quickly, Jihyo-shi,” Jihoon allows a wry smile, “feels like you just want to move on to my part as soon as possible.”

“Honey, I work in showbiz,” Jihyo sasses, “I can guarantee with my life that whatever you’re facing will nevereven be as 1% scandalous as the real celebrity gossips. I won’t be bothered asking you if I’m really just looking for juicy stuff.”

“This is, weirdly, extremely comforting,” Jihoon admits.

“Spill the tea to Jihyo-noona then.”

“It’s nothing juicy,” Jihoon heaves a sigh, as he reminds himself that Jihyo probably doesn’t know his boyfriend is actually Daniel. “Just relationship stuff with my boyfriend.”

“Like, what kind of relationship stuff?”

“It’s…, _argh_ ”

Jihoon does not even know where to start. He recounts his silent lunch with Daniel just then, and other occasions where he simply can’t understand him.

“I see,” Jihyo remarks flatly, scratching her chin with her fingers.

“Perhaps because it’s my first relationship? and I just… I just don’t know what to expect from him. Maybe I expect too much from him? Maybe he has lost interest in me? Maybe we just don’t fit?”

“We’ll deal with this one by one. Go to the first question first,” Jihyo sounds like a psychiatrist in Jihoon’s ears, “you said you could be expecting too much from him. What has he done that doesn’t fit your expectation then?”

“Mmm…, Not really something significant. But the way that we communicate? And how I feel when we spend time together?” Jihoon recounts. “I just feel kinda… bland. I just want enjoyable chit-chats, or funny banters. Perhaps we will throw shade at each other; but we’ll still be super content about it at the end. And then we’ll talk about everything in our life whenever we sit next to each other, but not to endure another uncomfortable silence. We can be each other’s emotional support, and be there at each other’s side during the low times — basically that sort of stuff. I feel none of these, and I don’t think I’m looking for hefty ideals.”

“It’s your first relationship after all. Where do you think your expectation come from?”

Instantly, there is a name in Jihoon’s mind, but elaborating his life to a newcomer like Jihyo would require at least one full day.

“Just from how people around treat me,” Jihoon answers vaguely. 

“You know why I asked where does your expectation come from?” Jihyo starts flatly, “cause what you said is so specific; it sounds like you have had someone else in your mind as a comparison basis already.”

Jihoon knows he definitely does, but the fact that he hides it so poorly still surprises him. “I…”

“Someone in your heart other your boyfriend?” Jihyo raises her eyebrows, “Did you cheat? Or it’s your ex? Wait, _no_. You said this is your first boyfriend, right? High school crush?”

“Just someone I used to like.”

“I don’t think you _used to like_ him, Jihoon, you still like him.” Jihyo addresses with a serious look.

Jihoon puts down his head.

“I don’t think I’m even entitled to say that I still have feelings for him. I was the one who didn’t want to be with him back then. Now, years have passed, and I’m sure he’s forgotten about me, but I become the one who really can’t move on.” He contorts a poorly disguised grin. “Karma.”

“You can’t deny your feelings, honey,” Jihyo states, “then why don’t you be with him back then?”

“I thought he wasn’t someone I’m looking for.” Jihoon heaves another sigh. “Should I break up with my current boyfriend? I don’t think it’s unfair for him, or am I such a jerk for doing that simply because I can’t let go of the past.”

“Don’t put the blame all on yourself, I’m sure you tried.” Jihyo pats Jihoon’s head, “You can’t eradicate someone from your life completely. Traces of that person will always live inside you, and it will eventually become part of you. There must be good times during those days. You know, times that you two spent together, or maybe you even miss who you were back then too.”

“But…”

“But yes, back to our focus, if you ask me, from what you have told me, I don’t think your relationship problem lies in how you still have feelings for someone else, but, by far, more on how you two see things so differently,” Jihyo analyses with a serious tone. “And if you think you should break up, go ahead. Just do it properly; That’s more important.”

“I simply don’t know how to do that properly to be honest.”

“What did you tell that guy when you say you don’t want to be in a relationship with him?”

“I…,” Jihoon utters with noticeable guilt, “vanished. like all of a sudden.”

Jihyo is taken aback. “That’s honestly bad.”

“I know,” Jihoon put his head further down, “and I did some weird shit up till now, just to seek emotional closure. A _rgh_. I don’t know.”

Jihyo is about to ask further, but the production director convenes a briefing for everyone, bringing their heartfelt chat to an abrupt end. She leaves her seat, and Jihoon starts packing up his make-up tools.

He stares at his own reflection in the mirror. The hesitance clouded his eyes, and the determination that he searches so hard, that he used to see back in the days he spent in the market, is nowhere to be found.

* * *

 

** 2014 **

“Wanna grab some food before we head home?” asks Daniel, only after he steers the wheel to the cafe they frequent.

Jihoon responds with a hum, but he cannot fully relax, for a very simple reason.

He was told that The Running Man crew is heading to Gwangjang Market the next day for shooting.

As Jihyo’s make-up artist, his only choice is to follow. Recommending this location to her now seems to the dumbest idea ever. Jihoon is not sure why; A part of him ceaselessly looks for excuses to be absent from the shooting, but another part of him that looks forward to the day also paradoxically exists.

Almost as a ritual, the two sit by the same table, glance at the same menu, and order the same food again. Both of them take out their phones and aimlessly scroll through all social media.

It is Jihoon’s dream to find a stable partner.He needs security, and he still thinks he needs it, but he also wonders if his relationship with Daniel is decaying from being ‘stable’ to plainly ‘dull’. Sometimes, he thinks their dynamics contains no differences from divorced couples who are forced to meet each other on their kid’s parents day at school. Time flows slowly like cement every time they meet, and they rarely talk to each other unless it is necessary.

There are occasions when Jihoon wants to reverse this, but every bland conversation with his boyfriend simply adds wear and tear to their bond. He lingers at the thought that taking initiative to openly address the problem will only lead to further aggravation. 

“I… gotta work early tomorrow,” Jihoon states flatly.

“Outdoor shooting?”

“Yeah.”

“Where.”

“….,” Jihoon gulps, “Gwangjang Market.”

“Oh,” Daniel acknowledges vaguely, “be careful though.”

Jihoon furrows his eyebrows upon the unexpected reply, “…of what?”

“It’s a sketchy place, after all,” Daniel comments casually.

“What?” Jihoon widen his eyes with obvious disagreement, “It’s not?”

“Whoa, chill,” Daniel waves his hand in air that clearly expresses defensiveness, “I was just asking you to be careful.”

“I will, as always,” Jihoon immediately shoots back.

“It’s still part of the deteriorating urban neighbourhood. Pickpockets look for vulnerable targets there,” Daniel elaborates with disdain, "and then there are homeless scavengers, hunting for food scraps.”

Jihoon can only take an extended blink, “Where the hell did you hear these from?”

“That’s what my friends told me.”

“Have you ever been there then?” Jihoon challenges, hands gripping hard at the edge of the table, “you can’t quote what other people said and assert that as the truth. I mean, yes, it’s a place mainly for the grass roots. Nothing’s glamorous, but it’s extremely safe, and people there cannot be more friendly and hospitable.”

“Whatever,” Daniel shrugs his shoulders, “just be careful. Won’t imagine a time I’ll be visiting that place except, perhaps, for my job, like what you’ll do tomorrow.”

“You should,” Jihoon responds coldly, “so that your judgemental ass will have a wake-up call.”

“Excuse me?” Daniel heavily puts down his spoon.

Jihoon reciprocates the stare, and their eyes soon meet, clearly seeing the utter lack of expression on each other’s faces — the lack of passion, infatuation, and joy that once stuffed their love life.

_Where are they?_

That night, none of the two has said anything to each other anymore. The next day, Jihoon receives a text from Daniel, asking for a break from their relationship, and Jihoon quickly texts him back with “Okay.” It’s much less dramatic than Jihoon has ever imagined. Perhaps, there won’t necessarily be bloodshed when it comes to ending a personal bond, he finally realises, especially when the flame between them has been snuffed for long.

It’s just about starting everything over again, and that’s pretty much it.

* * *

 

“I swear if this is another occasion where you are setting me up I’ll kill you.”

Woojin wiggles his body uncomfortably; the seat in the economy class is as uncomfortable as he expects.

“No,” Jinyoung rolls his eyes. “I gave up pretty much after you and Hyungseob kinda stagnate. Also, do you even know what is a bachelor party? If I’m to set you up, this is a very legit occasion. I won’t have to do it so sneakily.”

“I know, but you never fail to amaze me with your countless excuses,” Woojin irks, “do you even have enough friends for a bachelor party?”

“Nah, so it’s just me and you, bruh,” Jinyoung reveals.

Woojin crinkles his nose, “weirdly, that feels worse.”

“Stop whining,” Jinyoung frowns comically, “this trip accommodates your needs more than mine, seriously. I’ve seen the northern lights already, and I’m here with you travelling to Iceland for that.”

“Weren’t you in Norway when you see the lights last tiime?” Woojin retorts, “also, isn’t that you who proposed Iceland first?”

“Cause I remember you told me long ago you wanted to see the lights?”

He did recall he has once told Jinyoung about how he ‘ _wanted to see the northern lights_ ’ amidst a very random chat, albeit vaguely.

What he vividly remembers, however, is his conversation with Jihoon taking place before that, where they touched on the idea of seeing the lights together.

“That was literally years ago,” Woojin answers after a delay.

“Yeah, but you rarely voiced out that you wanted to travel abroad, let alone specifically to somewhere,” Jinyoung recounts, “so that’s super fresh in my mind even up till now.”

“I see,” Woojin acknowledges briefly, feeling slightly guilty about how Jinyoung favours his only guest of his so-called bachelor party, “and then after this trip you’ll head back to Korea, right?”

“Yeah, I can’t believe you remember that, first time feel like you are really my friend.”

“Oh fuck off,” Woojin laughs, “Where’s Daehwi now?”

“In Morocco, with Hyungseob, and some other friends. Their own bachelor party.”

“Sounds like a more enjoyable trip than ours,” Woojin quips, “we only have each other to face for the next week, must be how hell feels like.”

“Or does it sound more enjoyable simply because Hyungseob is there?” Jinyoung smirks.

“Jesus, _no_ ,” Woojin flinches.

“Bruh, be honest,” Jinyoung rolls his eyes again, “you two still see each other regularly, right?”

“Actually, genuinely, seriously, No,” Woojin denies with contempt, “time for the truth. He also knew that you two were trying to set us up back then, and we used each other as an excuse when we sense that you guys are trying to set us up with someone else again from then on.”

“I don’t get it,” Jinyoung tilts his head, “ Like, how?”

“Let’s just say, if I sense that you are going to set me up again, I’ll just excuse myself by saying that I have dated Hyungseob. Then I’ll tell him about this just to make sure the testimony is consistent, in case Daehwi confirms that with him,” Woojin confesses with a quirky grin, “he’ll do the same when he can feel that Daehwi is setting him up with someone else.”

Jinyoung parts his lips wide in shock.

“So most of the times you two didn’t hang out? When we thought that you two did?”

“Sometimes, we really did meet up, but 90% of the time, nah.”

“No wonder, _argh_ ,” Jinyoung shakes his head with apparent disapproval, “Daehwi and I both agreed that you two are going fine for the first few months, but nothing really progresses after that. We thought either you two just want to take it slow, or just kinda stuck there.”

“Jokes on you.”

“What I don’t get is, you two go great lengths just to make sure our attempts are futile, then why don’t you simply spend that effort and try a legit date with each other?”

“I just don’t see the need to create an environment to foster romance. When things will happen, they will. Hyungseob thinks the same too.”

“Well, sounds like you two have a bond after all,” Jinyoung releases a smile with comfort.

“Platonic bond is a kind of bond too.”

“Dont’t be so inflexible. Romantic feelings can arise at the most random moment, right?” Jinyoung shrugs playfully, “We’ll never know. Just like…”

He is about to put forward Jihoon’s case as an example, but he thinks better of it, and quickly shuts his mouth.

“Just like what?”

“Just like… Jisung’s father and his step-mother, haha,” Jinyoung stretches a wide grin, “they were separate stall owners in the market for more than 25 years before they fall in love and get married a few years ago. We were at their wedding, if your cold-blooded heart remember.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“So, everything is possible. You know.”

“Hyungseob and I will become lovers 25 years later then,” Woojin jests, “happy?”

“Tsk. Fuck off.”

* * *

The day for outdoor shootings is always the busiest for everyone in the crew. Even though Jihoon is not part of the production team, he can tell how frustratingly complicated the logistics will get when their recording involves anywhere outside their usual studio.

As always, his job is just to make sure Jihyo is always camera-ready. With outdoor elements, and the physical nature of the tasks to be completed by the cast, however, the difficulty of such usually heightens.

Still, none of these bothers him as much as the destination they are heading.

Gwangjang Market.

He is on the car separately for the make-up artists of the filming crew, right behind the one carrying Jihyo’s team.

Upon knowing that the shooting will be on the opposite side of where his stall used to be, there is the strangest mix of dread and relief inside Jihoon’s heart. It has been four years since his last visit, and he has to admit he is curious about how has everyone been. Yet, something in his heart also tells him that it is better not to find it out.

“Anyone’s been there before?” asks the driver, “not sure where can I park the car.”

“There’s a carpark if you travel one block down south from the market, next to Hana Bank,” Jihoon quickly offers, reminding himself that he is at work.

“Wow, that’s some precise information,” another passenger compliments, “you live nearby?”

“I used to,” Jihoon brushes it off with a smile.

-

To imagine himself returning to the market is one thing, but to _be_ in the market is definitely another. Part of him feels like a guilty murderer revising the crime scene, while another part of him feels like a veteran solider returning to home.

A buzz is guaranteed wherever the Running Man cast visits. Hardly will this time be an exception at all, especially with C. N. Blue as guests. Tourists and passers-by storm to the filming crew with joyous looks, forming a semicircle. Even some stall owners from the other end start raving over, just to catch a glimpse of the cast.

Jihoon is now behind the cameraman, getting ready for his job in case the director screams ‘ _CUT_ ’ at any time. 

Every spectator is focusing on the cast, except him. It was extremely rare for him to visit the other end of the market back then. He turns around and takes a look of other stalls nearby, and none of the stalls rings any bells in his mind.

It is no surprise that the semi-circled crowd only gets larger and larger in size, and Jihoon starts to recognise a few faces.

Panic immediately strikes. Taking advantage of his position behind the camera, he kneels with one knee, pretending to be looking at the playback. The cap on his head is now facing front, with the brim pointed downwards, just to shrink his presence and remain unnoticed.

At the same time, however, he turns his head left and right, glancing at the faces of every single person in the crowd, for reminiscence of a familiar figure. He cannot be more certain; he wants to see _him._ Even just a glimpse will be satisfying, despite not knowing what to do next if that really happens.

There exists a faint hope inside Jihoon that he will be there, even though he is unsure whether a old-fashioned person like him knows what Running Man is.

Yet, no one around seems to barely resemble the person he is looking for, and the weird concoction of disappointment and relief reignites again in his heart.

“ _CUT_ ”

The shout from the director brings Jihoon’s focus back to the shooting. He immediately jogs over to Jihyo, and the two travels to the canopy nearby, set up specifically for today’s shooting.

“I can feel my T-zone getting greasy,” Jihyo comments.

“I have oil-blotting papers in my boxset.”

Jihoon quickly carries out his touch-up routine on Jihyo under the canopy.

“You were so distracted,” Jihyo points out, closing her eyes while Jihoon daps the oil off from her skin, “every time I catch you with the corner of my eyes I can see that you aren’t focusing on the shooting.”

“Sorry.” Jihoon gulps, “I was just… kinda overwhelmed by how crowded it is.”

“No, it’s fine, as long as you are on cue whenever I call you — not like your task requires full attention of what’s happening at the shoot,” Jihyo elaborates, “it’s just we’ve been even more crowded places, and you weren’t like that.”

Jihoon offers no explanation, and Jihyo doesn’t question further. He carries on the routine in silence for a few minutes, something he has already mastered.

While he is adding an extra layer of settling powder as the final step, another staff member rushes in.

“Jihyo-shi, you ready? Director’s asking for you.”

“She is,” Jihoon responds quickly.

Jihyo turns around and shares a knowing nod with Jihoon. She jogs back to the recording spot, leaving him behind to pack up all the make-up tools and accessories.

Jihoon tidies up his makeup boxset in a flash. His client’s make-up is extremely simple to start with; few things were used for her look. He pokes his head from the canopy and gawks at the crowd that was paying full attention to the recording.

He glances at his watch, and an inappropriate idea forms in Jihoon’s mind.

Like an Olympic champion at the start gun, Jihoon blots down the path to the side of the market that he is familiar with.

Heart pounding, rasping throat, leaden feet, fists clutches tightly in his sweaty hands — He is not sure if these are reactions from running, or the mere possibility of seeing _him_.

There is no hesitation, even though he knows that he will run across a number of stall owners that know him well. To his comfort, most of them are not tending their stalls, presumably gathering at the spectator crowd instead.

After passing a lane of banners that he is familiar with, he finally see his destination.

The joy drives his lips to curve upwards for a split-second, but it quickly turns into an anti-climax.

Even from afar, Jihoon can see that Woojin’s stall is closed. He slows down his pace gradually, and eventually stops at his stall front.

The menu, the fridge with cucumbers, the cashier — everything looks exactly as he remembers, except the lights are not on, and the owner is not here. 

Jihoon releases a sigh; it must be too early.

Disappointment sinks in, almost flooding the faint sense of relief at the innermost part of his heart.

Yet, a minute or two later, he thinks better of it. Not seeing Woojin in person may actually be better than the otherwise. What they are going to say when they meet? Probably nothing. Woojin probably does not want to be reminded of any memories with him at all.

He knows he is the one who handles the decision poorly, and he probably shouldn’t ruin his life once again just because he wants closure. Perhaps, he should also close this chapter all by himself, but not by bothering anyone else or indulging himself in the past, even though memories do get sweeter over time.

“Oh gees, where were you?” asks the driver of his carpool, after Jihoon strolls back to the crowd.

“Just got lost.”

“Better get ready, almost a wrap, heading to Namsan next.”

“Sure.”

* * *

“Right when I thought Seoul’s winter is cold enough,” Woojin complains as he gets off from the coach, shivering uncontrollably. Despite being suited in the latest thermal technology, he can feel his limbs becoming numb.

“Hang in there,” Jinyoung utters lifelessly, sharing the sentiment, “we have to be far from the city centre to see the lights.”

The two, together with some twenty tourists, follow the tour guide’s torch and treks into the vast nothingness. The rampaging wind whips the air and stings any skin it can reach. The only thing Woojin can see is the torch, and also slow breaths from his lips that always come with thin mists. 

Just as he begins to lose his sense of time, the tour guide unleashes a loud shriek and points his torch further upwards.

Woojin yanks up his head, and releases a soft gasp.

The aurora lights.

It is one of the most fascinating creation of Mother Nature. The lights snake and dance across the dark, hanging in the sky above him. A shimmering shade of green slowly fades in and out of a translucent shade of purple. One moment, they move as if they were a singular entity, resembling an abstract path to heaven, then they stretch and disperse in multi-directions like an army of lights.

“It’s breathtaking, right?” Jinyoung asks beside him.

“Yeah.”

Woojin remains in awe for the next few minutes, but in a much broader sense than Jinyoung can ever comprehend.

There was a inner battle inside his heart.  His chat with Jinyoung during the flight reminds him that watching these lights with Jihoon will never take place.

The aurora can only be majestic, Woojin knows, but there was a lingering fear in his heart — the fear that he cannot bring himself to fully appreciate its beauty, simply because the one who should be here with him is not, and will no longer be.

Now that he sees the swaying lights with his own eyes for a while, and they are admittedly gorgeous, far greater than Woojin has imagined. Still, at first, there were moments when he doubts himself. He suspects that with the lights being overpoweringly stunning, they manage to temporarily shut down the angsty part in his heart, driving him to forget the regret that Jihoon is not here.

Only after a while later does he understand that this is not the case. He still wishes that Jihoon was here, but he can, perhaps surprisingly, comfortably deal with the fact that he is not. The lights will remain as astonishing as he can perceive, and life will remain eventful, with tons of things worthy of celebration — with or without him.

The epiphany finally strikes — the epiphany that the world is still amazing and full of wonders, as long as you are willing to see them.

He has finally moved on, he realises, much to his solace.

The frosty air keeps on biting Woojin’s skin, but it suddenly feels delightfully tingly. His neck was aching from tilting his head up, while the lights continue to grow and recede, yet he cannot care less.

“I never know the lights _can_ be that beautiful,” Woojin utters calmly.

Tears of relief and joy start to form at the corners of Woojin’s eyes, and he quickly wipes them away with the back of his gloves.

“Oh gees, you are emo.” Jinyoung teases, not knowing what Woojin’s heart has undergone, "it's just lights."

“I want to remember how this feels for the rest of my life,” Woojin says.

“I got a cam,” Jinyoung offers, scavenging for the gadget from the heavy layers of clothes.

Woojin permits a bright smile in front of the lens, while Jinyoung adjusts the settings. 

“Gees, it’s too dark to capture the northern lights. I need a much more advanced cam.”

“Just a picture of my face then. I want to remember this moment,” Woojin suggests, “it will be good enough.”

“You are narcissistic as fuck.”

“I don't see the problem of loving myself a little bit more.”

* * *

**2015**

Times flies, but the speed of technological advancement flies faster.

It is an era where everyone struggles to keep their fingers on the pulse of the ever-changing technology landscape. Use of emails has been on the decline, and Jisung rarely checks his inbox anymore. With that, his interaction with Woojin falls from sparse to almost non-existent.

Yet, he has to keep an eye on his email account today. An important one should be coming through. He has been refreshing his inbox the whole morning, but the one his whole family is looking is yet to be received.

“Is the report here yet?” asks Jisung’s mother across the living room, biting her nails at the same time.

Jisung shakes his head.

Restless, his hands comb through all other unread emails, and there he sees one from Woojin that was sent last year. 

  

 

> Jisung hyung,
> 
> It’s been long since I hear from you. How’s US? Hope you’re doing well.
> 
> Not sure if you still follow Korean variety shows over there, but the market was on Running Man last week! Go check that out.
> 
> Woojin

 

It’s always warm to see that your old friends remember you. With a smile, Jisung quickly replies: 

 

 

 

 

> Woojin,
> 
> Sorry it’s been so long since we talked. I’ve been really busy. We’re doing fine here.
> 
> Of course I watched, haha, but I’m not familiar with that part of the Market. I don’t even recognise who is the owner of that stall featured on the show. Is he new?
> 
> Also, do you have Kakao talk? Will be more convenient if we switch our chat to there.
> 
> Jisung

 

No sooner has Jisung pressed ‘send’, the notification alarm rings. He immediately turns to the first page, and there he sees the email he has been waiting for.

“Is that the report?” asks Jisung’s mother with nervousness.

Jisung nods his head, as he skims through the lines filled with medical terms.

“What does it say?”

“Dad has atherosclerosis,” Jisung utters slowly. 

It is the disease expected by Jisung. His father has been complaining about chest pain for a while, and that pain causes him to be hospitalised since a few days ago.

“What does that even mean?”

“The narrowing of his heart artery.” 

“WHAT? Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.” Jisung’s mother shrikes in panic, holding both hands on her head.

“Calm down first, mum, let me finish,” Jisung assuages, “The report says Dad’s condition is not critical, but it is still advisable for him to undergo angioplasty.”

“And that is?” the middle-aged woman sounds no less nervous.

“The surgical procedure to unblock a blood vessel. They insert a micro-stent to ensure the vessel remains open. Better do it now as a preventive measure, rather than only doing it after a heart attack strikes.”

“So, it’s an open heart surgery? Dangerous?”

“I’m not sure. Better if we consult the doctor.”

“You _are_ a doctor.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a cardiologist. You are asking me technicalities of a surgery, mum, and I’m not specialised at this branch,” Jisung replies calmly. “Let’s get dad discharged from the hospital first.”

* * *

“Jihoon-shi, it’s almost time.” 

“Two minutes,” Jihoon responds with confidence and calmness.

Jobs have been pouring in with the reputation as Jihyo’s long-time make-up artist. It is a much greater stepping stone than Jihoon ever expects. Travelling in and out of studios and fashion shows becomes a daily routine, something that Jihoon cannot deny he thoroughly enjoys.

“Gees, you draw my brows better than I do,” the male model compliments, “teach me.”

Jihoon returns a diplomatic smile, but it was hidden behind the facial mask he is wearing.

“Let’s do that some time, we’re in a hurry,” Jihoon brushes it off.

“You’ll be in Tokyo for the fashion week, right?”

“I think so,” Jihoon answers with hesitance.

“Thought you’re a regular there?”

“For the last two years, yeah. But now we got MERS,” Jihoon explains, “not sure how that affects their arrangements. If the epidemic goes out of hand here in Korea, they probably will ask me not to go then.”

“I see.”

“Great,” says Jihoon after one last stroke on the left eyebrow, “you are good to go.”

“Thank you.”

The male model stands up straight from his seat, and only by then does Jihoon  discern his imposing height. He yanks his face up, and takes a better of the taller man’s face. The man looks so casually, if not effortlessly, handsome, with lights from the bulbs by the make-up mirror criss-crossing behind his back as though a halo. 

“Name’s Guanlin.”

“Jihoon.”

“You don’t need an introduction,” Guanlin compliments, “Everyone here knows you. You are like the _de facto_ person-in-charge here when it comes to make up.”

“Thank you,” Jihoon replies, as he hastily organises the make-up palettes on the table. “Better go now, or else the coordination will come over and ask for you again.”

“You… free tonight for a drink?” Guanlin proposes, with a rather suggestive tone.

Jihoon turns his head back to the taller man, shocked (and massively turned off) by his boldness. Guanlin stands still with his hands tucked into the pockets on his blazer; The lack of intention to leave is apparent.

“…You into older guys?” Jihoon cuts to the chase.

“If you are older than me, which, I can’t tell at all with your mask on,” Guanlin leans forward, “You can say that.”

“Well, too bad. I’m into older guys too,” Jihoon deadpans, “so no thanks.”

“Not even a chance for me to convince you the otherwise?”

“Perhaps later,” Jihoon turns around, completely indifferent to the invitation, “and in all honesty, I really need to teach make-up classes tonight. Just go, please. They are waiting for you.”

-

The outbreak of MERS in 2015 hits Seoul especially hard, with the whole city bereft of tourists. Businesses, including shopping malls, restaurants and cinemas have reported a sharp drop in sales as people shun public venues with large crowds.

Health officials have begun urging people to go about their normal daily activities after rounds of quarantines, but the fear is still palpable. A simple sneeze in the public will still cause people to run away from you as if a zombie.

Every single person wears a mask as a precaution against MERS, whenever they are not at home. Jihoon is not an exception, even though he is the only person in his own Mini Cooper.  The traffic is less congested after the outbreak, but there is not a sense of delight when it is due to an epidemic.

Upon seeing the red light, Jihoon applies the breaks. The route to the makeup academy is one that he can almost recite. With very few cars on the road, he is not paying full attention to the surroundings.  Numerous pedestrians start to cross the road soon after, all of them with a facial mask on.

Jihoon is the verge of spacing out, until he takes a glance of one of the people on foot.

That man is on his phone, holding the gadget with the hand closer to Jihoon’s side. Yet, even with that, and a facial mask, Jihoon can still clearly see his red, ruffled hair with thick, levelled fringe that covers his eyebrows.

He cranks his neck for a better look, eyes steadily, yet blindly, follow the pedestrian’s figure, hands gripping hand on his steering wheel.

There is no way that he is mistaken.

His mind is unable to process the images sent by his eyes. It was as if the man’s existence creates an impact that knocks every wisp of air from Jihoon’s lungs.  He struggles to inhale, to exhale, to do anything. His body is too overwhelmed to function properly, as the name bounces around inside his skull.

Park Woojin.

It takes him another second to recover from the shock. Hurriedly, he presses the horn, trying to grasp attention of the red-haired man, who almost finishes crossing the road by now.

_HOOOOONNNK_

The sudden brassy noise sends the man a sudden shiver, causing the phone on his hand to slip and fall onto the ground. Furious, he turns his head, lowering his eyebrows with eyes squinted at the Jihoon’s car.

It is not the effect that Jihoon expects.With hesitance, he waves his hand, but the man swiftly picks up the phone and continues his walk, missing his gesture.

Desperation in his heart turns greater. Jihoon forcefully taps the switch that opens the car window by his side, poking his head out.

_"PARK. WOO. JIN!."_

Yet, the shout is greatly muffled by his facial mask, and the red-hair man seems to be too absorbed into his phone call. He takes a deep breath and yells again, but that is completely covered by another honk behind him.

Jihoon first turns his head to that car, and then he faces the front.

There he sees the traffic light turns green.

With a big sigh, he tucks his head back inside his car, stepping on the engine again.

That, however, does not mean that he gives up; there is no way that he will. Retrieving his phone from his bag, he scrolls through his contacts with one hand, while he steers the wheel with another.

A dangerous move, but every cell in his mind tells him that he should not care.

* * *

The market is more deserted than one can ever imagine. Flocks of tourists that normally cramp the place are now nowhere to be found, owing to the acute respiratory disease.

Woojin does not even see the point of tending his stall, but he does not have anywhere to go either.

He stands by his stall with his mask on, daydreaming, until Jiinyoung’s voice is heard.

“Gees, it’s been years,” shouts Jinyoung with absolute glee.

Woojin whips his head to the source of the sound. Next to his best friend, to his joy, is Jisung.

“Hyung,” yells Woojin across the aisle, as the other two slowly treks to his stall.

“It’s been a LONG time,” says Jisung.

“Sure as hell it is,” Woojin replies, “what drives you back?”

“Definitely not MERS, unfortunately, nor is it a delightful reason actually,” Jisung’s face sees a slump, “dad’s gotta undergo heart surgery next week. Healthcare in the U.S. is kinda lousy. The same surgery is twice as expensive compared to Seoul. So we’ll gonna stay here for the medical procedure.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry to here that,” Woojin curls his lips.

“It’s okay,” Jisung soothes, “it’s more like a pre-emptive surgery. His condition is not critical, but it’s still better to carry it out first.”

“I see,” Woojin tilts his head with lips pressed together, “just keep me posted, please.”

“Sure,” Jisung takes out his phone, “you got Kakao talk? Didn’t see you reply to my email.”

Woojin furrows his eyebrows tightly, falling into complete silence.

“Your email?” 

“Yeah. Check your inbox.”

Woojin’s face now looks like Jisung has just produced a rhinoceros from his pocket, completely confused.

“I don’t even have an email account to start with.”

“… What the hell are you talking about?” Jisung presses his lips with a slight frown, unamused, “You had amnesia or what?” 

“I just never have one,” Woojin affirms staunchly, crossing his arms.

“It has to be you, man,” Jinyoung counters with raised eyebrows, recalling that he has read the emails forwarded by Jisung a few years ago.

“The fuck? No! It’s _really_ not me.” Woojin crinkles his nose, “I don’t even know how to open an email account.”

“Then who the hell would that be?”

* * *

Jihoon scrolls to the literal bottom of his texts, contacts, even pictures, just to search for any clues that contains Woojin’s number, but nothing comes up.

His eyes is glued to his mobile more and more, while the time he spends on the road condition in front of him gets less and less.

The world outside the car window passes by in a blur of grey and white. There is still one method to reach Woojin, an indirect one that comes with contrite, but he knows that has to be the last resort of all last resorts.

His eyes finally flicker back at the front window. Suddenly, he sees a scene to his utter horror.

“FUCK!”

A pedestrian is passing by less than 20 feet in front of him.

With a jolt, he slams his breaks and twists the steering wheel to the furthest left. The car violently swerves to the same direction, screeches of the tyres skidding over the smooth tarmac shatter the silence.

“FUCK! FUCK!”

The whole Mini Cooper swirls and rolls over, going out of control. Jihoon’s body jerks to the dashboard, forehead colliding with the window, almost being flung forward in the uncontrollable steel prison. He sucks in cramped air, feeling his lungs caving in themselves.

_KABAM_!

The noise of the crushing of glass, mixed with metal violently plowing into concrete, was almost deafening. People nearby rush to the scene, a few of them come forward to the driver seat. There they see Jihoon submerged under the airbags, knocking him from his back and sideways.

“Sir, you okay?’

No responses.

"Sir! Sir!" yells one of the men, as he taps Jihoon's face slightly.

Still no responses from Jihoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:  
> 1\. Jihoon is fine. Trust me.  
> 2\. I think the next chapter will be the last one.  
> 3\. Comments are always welcomed! They are the best motivator to a writer (I guess every writer will agree with that^^)
> 
> Once again, thank you for your tolerance. XOXO. Will update soon.


	13. 2015 (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my disappearance, but here we go^^ I feel bad for disappearing so long. As a reader, I know a long absence means the need to re-read some of the previous parts as a refresher, but life happened. Sorry T.T
> 
> Also, I broke down this last chapter into two, and, hence, I made a (contrived) double-update ^^ Enjoy^^
> 
> Will beta soon. Feels like some of the sentences are too wordy T.T

**2015**

Jihoon’s eyes flutter open blearily, upon feeling multiple taps on his face.

“Sir, you okay?”

He gives a muzzy nod, looking absolutely confused. Every molecule in his body is trying to recover from the concussion. He can see a thick, suffocating fog of exhaust rising from the car front, gasoline smell too intense for words.

“Just get off from the car first,” says the kind-hearted man. He opens the car door, and is about to give Jihoon a hand.

“I’m fine,” Jihoon soothes unconvincingly.

He removes the seatbelt tugged on his skin. With every lurch, the air bags start to delate. Ambulance sirens are heard, as Jihoon sits on the pedestrian sidewalk. He lands his elbow on his left knee, and rests his chin on his left hand, while his phone remains on his right one.

A buzz alerts him to take a glance of his phone screen — a new email.

Without much thought, he taps to read it.

_This is the real Woojin using Jisung’s account. Who are you?_

Jihoon can only find himself reading the sentence with Woojin’s voice again and again. This is the closest he has ever come into contact with this red-haired man for the last few years. His hand clutches hard on the brim of his phone for a while. The minute needed to muster the determination feels like forever

After a deep breath, he can finally allow his fingers to tap a reply.

 -

“Sorry, can you drive faster. My friend’s in danger,” Woojin prompts the driver the third time, feeling his stomach knotted up. He could feel his leg trembling as he takes another quick glance of the digital clock near the taxi driver.

“I told you, man. I can’t exceed the speed limit,” says the taxi driver with displeasure. He turns the steering wheel, and the car accordingly swirls to the right for a narrower lane.

Woojin keeps his eyes peeled, looking out through the front window, knowing that he should be close to his destination.

The next few seconds feel as centuries long for him. After another sharp turn, closer to him are metal scraps that mostly resemble a car right, next to a police motorbike.

“Stop here will do,” he asks with haste, unfastening his seatbelt at the same time.

He breaks into a sprint as soon as he slams close the taxi door. The adrenaline courses through his whole system, calves starting to burn, eyes fixated to the crashed car, but the only person he can see near the debris is a man in his police uniform.

“Sorry, where is the driver?” asks he as he pants.

The policeman bobs his head to his right. “There.”

Woojin whips his head to the same direction, just as Jihoon lifts his upon hearing the voice.

Their eyes immediately meet. For the first time in five years, Jihoon finally gets to lock eyes with this person — the person he has been looking for, the person with this pair of dark, shining, eyes, now burning with concern. It feels so alien, yet familiar.

Park Woojin.

Words left Jihoon as he sits awkwardly by the road. He knows, if he was whole, he would be running towards him at this point, throwing himself into his arms, but he can’t. He can only blink, as his eyes follow the red-haired figure, coming forward with wide strides.

“Jesus, are you ok? why are you so careless?” Woojin growls, with a weird mix of endearment and indignation.His eyes sweeps through Jihoon’s body, looking for wounds and blood. “Did your hurt yourself?

Jihoon’s eyes can only trail Woojin’s frame as he shakes his head. He wants to answer with a “no”, but he knows his voice would falter into unintelligible croaks.

“Did you sprain yourself though?” Woojin asks worriedly, as he revolves around Jihoon, making sure he is uninjured. “What about your head?”

Jihoon shakes his head again, eyes remains fixated on the red-haired man.

“I don’t trust you. You always say you are okay,” Woojin grunts. He sits right next to Jihoon, and starts running a hand through his hair, searching for wounds on his scalp. 

Every tender stroke reminds him the sweeter days with Woojin. Jihoon wishes he had washed his hair today. With the corner of his eyes he blatantly steals flinty side glances of Woojin — the same person after all these years, the boy with a down-to-earth charm. He soaks in the warmth Woojin’s eyes, as if seeing the last piece of the puzzle of his life.

“Shouldn't you go to the hospital for a check?” asks Woojin.

He is finally aware of Jihoon’s unwavering gaze on him after one last stroke. He returns the gesture and, once again, their eyes locked on each other, for a time that Jihoon wishes to be forever.

This is what he has long dreamt of, just the two of them, alone, and inches away.

Jihoon finally feels complete.

“Er... Where the hell is your shoe?” Woojin breaks the dense air, pointing at Jihoon’s left foot.

“I…,” Jihoon’s eyes finally shift. After a pause, he shakes his head, “I dunno.”

Woojin clicks his tongue before he stands up and rushes to the car, to Jihoon’s bewilderment. It takes him a few seconds to understand what Woojin is doing — he is searching for his shoe.

“You are so clumsy,” Woojin chides with obvious endearment as he strolls back, holding a sneaker on his hand. He kneels down and puts on the shoe for Jihoon, carefully tying the shoelaces.

Before Jihoon can process the way that his body shivers in response to the contact, he hears Woojin’s soft grunt again. “How can you not know where is your shoe?”

“I don’t even realise they’ve fallen off,” Jihoon mumbles, looking at Woojin with tender eyes.

“Of course sneakers’ll fall off easily,” Wooden retorts, “you thought you are wearing plastic boots back when you were in the Market or what?”

The reference to his time in the market feels like an auditory hug; Jihoon covers his mouth to hold back a peal of laughter, for banters between them feels just as melodic as he remembers.

Woojin also reckons his waning ability to conceal the fondness of hearing Jihoon’s laughters. “ _Tsk_. Why the hell are you still laughing? Did you bump your head or what?”

Jihoon continues his chuckles, until Woojin’s face turns serious, pointing a finger at Jihoon’s face,.

“You know, you have some explaining to do.”

 

“… what.” Jihoon knows perfectly what does Woojin mean. He doesn’t look up, eyes fixed nervously on the ground.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I…”

The sentiments within Jihoon become convoluted. Throughout the years, he is sure that he made a correct decision for a new career. There is a tiny part of Jihoon’s heart that wants to confess how he feels, and how part of him has always wished he had stayed. The weird disguise is a channel to reconnect with this part of his old life. Yet, a much larger part of it is not ready to face his own stupid, unreasonable behaviour.

“I don’t know that Jisung will ever be back.” He brushes off Woojin’s query with a tone that is almost offensively nonchalant in the latter’s ear.

“Of course he will! Sooner or Later!” Woojin snaps, “What the fuck? Who are you trying to fool, man?”

Jihoon tears his gaze away, with his voice trembling.

“… Myself,” says Jihoon, as he eyes at Woojin strangely, almost apologetically.

The heart of Woojin skips a beat. He still struggles to interpret Jihoon’s actions at all, and he knows he may never get a coherent answer by raising more questions. To remember the way he tried so hard to unwind Jihoon’s grasp on his heart still faintly hurts, but he cannot bring himself to hold grudge on Jihoon anymore.

Jihoon parts his lips, a move actually noticed by Woojin. He returns the attention, eyes softened, doting on Jihoon’s face.

With that, Jihoon can finally bring himself to mutter the next word.

“ _Sorry_.”

Woojin’s face instantly flushes, all he can feel is the beat and pulse of his heart. He stares dumbly at Jihoon’s calm, sincere face, hearing his blood churning and rushing in his veins.

He takes in a deep breath with a delay.

“You are so dumb.”

“I’m just…,” Jihoon puts down his head further.

“It's ok. I get it,” Woojin answers before Jihoon finishes, patting his hair at the same time, "I really do."

 

* * *

“Sorry, we have just been notified that Mr. Park encountered a car crash, the school will have to postpone the lesson for a week. Please…”

“No, I’m fine,” Jihoon declares, as he swings the door open with a bang, interrupting the man’s speech and catching the attention of everyone in the classroom.

He turns around, and is prepared to close the door, only to meet eyes with Woojin, standing outside with an worried expression.

“You sure you can start teaching? Like right after you almost died?” Woojin murmurs with a challenging tone, fearing that other people in the room can hear their conversation, “I mean, even if you are unscratched, what about your car?”

“I’m fine, like, perfectly,” Jihoon soothes, albeit unconvincingly, “and my assistant will handle the car.”

Woojin nods with hesitance. He is not sure what to do, or to say, next. To end their encounter here seems a bit abrupt and weird.

“Woojin…, I…,” Little does he know that Jihoon shares the same thought, Jihoon’s eyes search for a possible focus, “er…., thank you.”

“You don’t have to say that, umm…,” Woojin is running out of words, “just find me when you need help. Keep… keep in touch?”

Jihoon responds with a hum, but a weirder idea pops up in his mind — one that possibly lengthens their time together for an hours or two. He turns around to take a look of his class of pupils, and, with a playful smirk, pulls Woojin into the classroom.

“Class, sorry for being late,” Jihoon chortles, pulling the red haired man into the centre of the class.“I know that you guys are always too shy to volunteer when I ask for help in demonstrations.”

“So, today, I brought my friend for help,” Jihoon announces, gesturing Woojin’s presence.

Woojin’e eyes almost pop out. He gawks at Jihoon, whose lips curve upwards with the perfect mix of diplomacy and mischief.

“Can we give a round of applause to Woojin?”

-

“I hate you,” Woojin seethes half-heartedly, as he sits by the director stool, closing his eyes, while Jihoon removes the make-up off from his face with a bright smile. “I simply can’t ignore your students’ faces. They’re like non-stop judging me silently.”

Jihoon can only snort with glee, as he wipes off foundation from Woojin’s face with cotton pads. Only the two of them are left in the classroom, and the comfortable silence filling the air cannot be more familiar to Jihoon.

He wishes the eyeliner on Woojin is infinitely long. His fingers are only a piece of cotton fabric away from touching the person he has gravely missed for the last 5 years. His eyes are so close with his delicate skin, as if he can see the pores, and how around Woojin’s eyes were laughter lines in just the right amount.

"I think they like you though,” Jihoon finally breaks the silence. “They have never been so attentive.”

“Not even as half as you like your students, seriously,” Woojin retorts, sitting up straight at the same time, “I mean, you just had a car crash, man, and you insist finishing the class.”

“I mean, I like them,” Jihoon concedes, “but, to be brutally honest, it’s more about me. I’m setting up my own make-up school, and you know, in this industry, it’s all about reputation and word of mouth. Not at a good time or position to be absent all of the sudden, cause I don’t want them to think I’m irresponsible.”

“That’s… impressive,” Woojin compliments with crinkling eyes, “and very… _you_. Um…, are we done? I want to pee.”

“Almost, hold still. Don’t move so much when you talk, or else I can’t remove the concealer near your lips,” Jihoon reminds, as he places one of his hands on Woojin’s forehead, proceeding to wipe off make-up from his cheeks. “I guess it should be open by next year.”

“Where will it be? You have to invite me for the opening.”

“Gangnam,” Jihoon giggles, tossing the used cotton pads to the trash can. “Still thinking about the name though.”

“Mm…, what about… er…, _Jihoon’s Make-up?_ ”

Jihoon takes a step back upon hearing the suggestion, with a exaggerated frown on his face.

“Are you actually serious?” He chides gently, “it sounds like kids’ make-up for Halloween.”

“Oh don’t talk like you you have such majestic ideas,” Woojin rolls his eyes, leaning back with his hands behind his head, “remember you want your wallet to be a Gucci wallet that looks like… Dior or Chanel? I forgot.”

“Prada,” Jihoon imitates Woojin’s eye-roll. It’s that type of bickering that Jihoon sorely misses. He cannot help but chuckles, face alight with enthusiasm and sincerity. “And, great, we are done. Go pee now.”

“Oh, yeah, _fancy_. Prada-ish Gucci, wow,” Woojin counters, standing up at the same time, “Can you find something like that though?”

“Tsk, how would such a thing exist?” Jihoon brushes it off with a boisterous laugh, throwing the last piece of cotton pad away.

“Exactly.”

“But,” Jihoon starts, somewhat seriously, “I found the one that I really want. Something that really fits me.”

Woojin’s eyes go wide and surprised, “Really?”

“Of course,” Jihoon starts his silly laugh.

“Show me,” Woojin proposes, rushing to the classroom door at the same time, “but gees, I really have to go to pee first. Where’s the washroom?”

“To the right.”

Quick footsteps by the door are heard as Woojin starts to sprint. With an ear-to-ear smile, Jihoon strolls to where his bag is placed, and takes out his wallet from a pile of stuff.

It is as worn out as a nylon wallet possibly can be: fraying yarn snagged by the edge of the inseam; some permanent rips and creases by the corners are easily noticed; shades of colour become so much paler than when it was first bought.

But the rainbow-coloured pattern on the cover is still clearly visible.

It is the unbranded wallet that Woojin gifted him 6 years ago. Nothing fancy, nothing sophisticated, nothing glamorous, but perfect — perfect for him, just like the one who gifted him this accessory.

The time to confess how he feels throughout all these years has to be now.

Jihoon misses Woojin, every meaning of the word included. He hides the wallet behind him, facing the classroom entrance with the largest grin on his face, rocking back and forth on his heels. The anticipation in his veins becomes a nervous kind of energy, tingling through him like electrical sparks. Scenes of how Woojin will react run rampant in his mind.

Silence in the room is broken by a mobile ringtone. Jihoon turns his head to the desk, and sees Woojin’s phone vibrating. He picks up the call, and the man from the other side instantly starts talking.

“ _Hey, my French class has ended and I’m picking up Pubsie from the vet’s now. Thank god everything’s fine. You almost done? Or… hello?_ ”

“ _Sorry, uh…,_ ” answers Jihoon with hesitance, “ _Woojin’s in the washroom._ ”

“ _OH_ ,” replies the man with a laugh, “ _I’m so sorry, Jinyoung_?”

“ _Uh…, no, … Jihoon._ ”

“ _Jihoon…, like, the Park Jihoon? The make-up artist?_ ”

“ _…yeah._ ”

“ _OH. MY. GOD._ ” the man shouts with obvious glee, “ _you know what? Jin always says you guys know each other when you appear on TV, and I was like: he must be bluffing. HAHAHAHAH.”_

“ _Uhhhh…, haha,_ ” Jihoon stammers, still not used to being complimented or recognised by the public.

“ _He said was he was with an old friend. So that old friend is you. Wow._ ”

“ _Er…, what about I tell him to call you back with this number?_ ”

“ _Sure!_ ” agrees the man, only to change his mind instantly,“ _Wait, No, I’m using the landline at the vet’s actually. Please just tell Jin I called._ ”

“ _No problem. You are…?_ "

“ _Donghyun, his boyfriend._ ”

It is just three simple words, but every cell inside Jihoon refuses to comprehend or process what he has just heard. The devastation within him surges and reaches higher peaks with every expelled breath. He clutches the wallet tightly until the brim of his fingernails become frighteningly pale; his heart sinks through the floor, and strikes an abyss that no one can see.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“ _Oh…., yeah, Donghyun, right?_ ”

“ _Yeah! Perhaps I’ll call later with my phone! See you!_ ”

Jihoon holds the phone right next to his ear even though the other side has hung up. There is no capacity for him to process anything else, right until footsteps are heard from the classroom door.

Panicked, he hurriedly tosses Woojin’s phone onto the table, hiding his wallet behind his back with another hand.

“Oh gees,” says Woojin with confused laughters, catching a glimpse of his phone being flung off from Jihoon’s hand, “what’s with my phone?”

“Uh…,” Jihoon’s eyes flicking away .

“Someone called?” Woojin continues cursorily. He eyes at his phone, just as the same ringtone strikes again.

“ _Hey_ ,” answers Woojin the call with an ear-to-ear beam, “ _oh…, so it was you. Haha, I was just peeing. Yeah…, We’re almost done. yeah, I’ll text you. Seeya.”_

“I guess I gotta go. My boyfriend’s nearby.” Woojin tucks his phone back into his pocket.

It is one thing to hear it from someone else, but to hear Woojin addressing someone else as his boyfriend, right at the time he is prepared to confess:

Jihoon feels nothing short of being cremated alive.

“…Yeah.”

“Are you hiding your wallet?” Woojin asks with a smirk, finally noticing the hand behind Jihoon’s back.

“Forget it.” Jihoon takes a small step back.

“What?” Woojin takes a step forward, one that scares Jihoon to take a larger stride back..

“It’s nothing spec…”

“No way,” Woojin permits a laugh, “we both know how picky you can be. Show…”

“It.. it really is.”

“I don’t trust you~” Woojin sing-songs with an oblivious tone. He leans forward and extends his arm towards Jihoon’s lower back, only to be fended off by Jihoon’s empty hand.

“STOP,” yells Jihoon with obvious panic, holding his wallet behind his back with both hands.

“What the hell? What’s the deal?” Woojin asks with a laugh.

“I SAID NO.” Jihoon’s voice turns shaky.

Jihoon wants to take another step back, but Woojin acts quicker. The latter’s hands grip tight on Jihoon’s shoulders as a leverage. He tiptoes to gain a few centimetres and leans close to Jihoon; head poking out and hovering over Jihoon’s shoulder, finally catching a glimpse of the wallet behind Jihoon’s back.

With that, his body immediately froze, smile on his face instantly disappears. 

Jihoon’s panic all makes sense to him now. The fright, the wallet, the emails — all points one thing: the reciprocation of feelings from Jihoon — something he once wanted the most in his entire life, only to be 6 years too late.

Slowly, he shifts his eyes to Jihoon, whose reddened eyes are staring at the floor blankly, hands barely holding the rainbow-coloured wallet at all.

“Just…, listen to me,” Jihoon shaky voice ruptures the intolerable silence; lips trembling, eyes looks right into Woojin’s with sincerity.

The silence in the room intrudes every pore on their skin, seeping into their blood and paralysing their brain. It is a gaping void needing to filled with sounds, words, anything.

“ _Please_ ,” Jihoon continues with stilted politeness that screams desperation, “Don’t look at it, _Please_.”

Jihoon’s eyes darts guiltily away, but he can tell Woojin’s eyes remain on his face for a while longer, almost oozing a weird sense of guilt, right until Woojin shrugs his shoulder with an overcompensating hop.

“Up to you, haha,” Woojin plasters on a fake smile, head turning left and right as he forces himself to come up with something to fill in the air. “ I didn’t get to see it. Don’t worry.”

It has to be the whitest lie Jihoon has ever heard.

Perhaps Woojin feels the same with the non-necessity to uncloak the regretful and dispensable truth, for it won’t change one single thing. The silence creeps in again, only to be punctured by Woojin’s voice.

“What about Papillon?” Woojin eyes skim over Jihoon, then he does a double take, gaze drifting swiftly.

“What…, what Papillon,” Jihoon mutters.

“The name for your makeup school,” suggests Woojin genuinely, “it means butterfly in French.”

“…You started learning French?” Jihoon responds with apparent disinterest.

“ _Well_ , You know,” Woojin wiggles his eyebrows, with a abrupt change of aura, “ _I’m always fancy_. Haha.”

Jihoon releases a joyous snort. And that’s it. Back to our classic banter; Jihoon supposes, as if there is a tacit understanding that neither of them should dwell on what has just happened. The quick recovery of Woojin does catch Jihoon off-guard, but he knows there is no point in exploring whether that is an act or not.

“Oh, shut up.” Jihoon rolls his eyes, with a genuine smile, “It’s pap-pi-on, not pa-pi-lon.”

“Oh yeah, fancy.”

* * *

“Why not _Jihoon’s make-up_ though? It’s simple, and everyone will know its your brand.” Woojin wonders aloud as he and Jihoon meander down the empty street towards the bus stop.

“It sounds so tacky,” Jihoon sneers, “just like you won’t name your shop _Woojin’s kimbap_.”

“Well actu…”

It is at this moment when they can hear someone yelling “JIN~” from behind, interjecting their conversation.

Both turn around, and there they see a man holding a puppy in his arms, rushing forward. Jihoon can tell it’s the person on the phone, Donghyun. He darts his eyes to Woojin, who is already wearing an ear-to-ear grin on his face, one that cannot be mistaken as anything but an expression of affection.

“Hey!” Woojin greets, before he blinks hard at the puppy in that cute way that he does, and starts speaking to the pet in an exaggerated tone. “Pubbsie! You okay? Been a good boy?”

“The vet says he’s fine,” says Donghyun with obvious relief.

“Thank god,” Woojin pats its head, “oh, and let me introduce…”

“Tsk, Park Jihoon needs no introduction. He’s not you, honey,” Donghyun interjects Woojin with a mocking yet friendly tone, taking quick steps towards Jihoon with a disarming smile, “I mean, he is _the_ Park Jihoon, it’s just… _so nice_ to meet you. I’m Donghyun, we talked just before, you remember?”

“…Yeah.” Jihoon contorts a smile.

“Jin and I gotta have dinner at home tonight, you wanna join us?”

“Um…, I gotta deal with my car first,” Jihoon rejects politely, “perhaps some day.”

“Oh right…,” Donghyun pouts his lips, “but yes! Please join us some day. Woojin make very nice kimbap!”

“I bet he does.”

“Anyway, Jin and I should go. We got another pug at home, and she must be starving.”

“Yeah…,” Jihoon can only blink his eyes, before he directs his next sentence to Woojin. “Keep in touch.”

“Sure,” Woojin nods his head with a beam, “see you.”

“See you,” Jihoon waves his hand stiffly, a huge contrast from Donghyun’s energetic waves.

Jihoon can only stare at the couple, whose figures become further and further as they stroll down the lane with holding hands. The conversation that he once had with Woojin flooded his mind — that Woojin just wanted a mundane life running the stall, earning a penny or two with the person he likes next to him.

The irreversibility of his previous decisions is shoved to his face, and the impulsion to face his own emotion is weighed down on his shoulders. To his bewilderment, even with his eyes locked on the couple, the feeling of a tight clasp on his heart is still nowhere to be found, not even the will to slightly furrow his eyebrows.

There is nothing but a sense of liberation in his heart.

Perhaps it is the painful yet unavoidable epiphany that there is no use crying over spilt milk — Woojin is finally living his dream, and Jihoon knows he himself is also living his. What more can he demand?

Perhaps the past is akin to a puff of smoke, a film that he has watched, and a song that he has listened; it definitely happened, but nothing at present can crystallise its existence. Perhaps any fanciful notion with this red-haired man should come to end long ago. Perhaps, with life pushing him forward, it is always better to adapt to the reality.

The reality that Woojin is the one that got away.

He turns around as he tucks this piece of memory into the deepest part of his heart, feeling grateful that the widening smile on his face is not forced, but one with relief, with ease, and with composure.

It is the freest Jihoon has ever felt in his life.


	14. Epilogue: 2018

“Before we conclude your interview for our magazine, Jihoon-shi. May we ask one final question? Your fans must be very eager to find out about this.”

Jihoon contorts a wry smile, “I guess it has to be about my make-up brand, and my make-up school.”

“It is. All we know is your official launching party is tomorrow, but we are not fed with anything else: not even the name, or what types of products you are launching,” the interviewer explains, “Are we privileged to be teased with some details?”

“Frankly I’m not at liberty to disclose most of the details, but I’m sure you will get all the details tomorrow.”

“Not even the name?”

“Well, all I can tell is… It’s a simple name, yet meaningful… at least to me, haha. It’s a word that someone taught me what it really means, by examples.”

“Who?” The interviewer wiggles her eyebrows with obvious anticipation.

“Just someone that I’m once very close with. Well…, we are still friends actually.”

“Ex?”

Jihoon shakes his head, “No. I’ve never entered a relationship with that person, but there’s a type of love that makes you feel so safe, so secure that you never noticed its existence until it’s gone. At least that’s the case for me.”

“Wow…,” The interviewer is not sure how to respond, and she addresses her reply lightly just in case the atmosphere gets too serious. “That sounds…. a bit sad.”

“I don’t view it that way. Actually I’m quite thankful of what had happened, it’s what happened in the past that makes me …, me.” Jihoon smiles, “Perhaps I’m just good at letting go of things that are inevitable.”

“So it’s about things that are not in your control?”

“There’re decisions that are in my control, but to be honest, now that I think about it…, in either way it’s not gonna end well, our goals never align.” 

The interviewer is prepared to start another question, but is quickly aware of the hand gestures from Jihoon’s assistant behind the camera, signalling that it’s the time to wrap up.

-

Woojin does not mean to eavesdrop, but the ladies of the stall opposite to him simply chat with a volume that he cannot ignore.

“Did you watch the livestream interview from Vogue with Park Jihoon yesterday night? So many questions in my head right now.”

“Yup,” the younger woman answers eagerly, “do you think he is referring to Kang Daniel? rumour has it that they were once in a relationship.”

“But in the interview Jihoon said that person is never his boyfriend, right?”

“Oh right!” the woman knocks her palm on her forehead, “but who else would that be?”

Curious, Woojin picks up his phone, with an aim to search for the interview, and it doesn’t take long before he finishes the whole video.

There is no way that he is mistaken, Jihoon is referring to him.

Does that stir a ripple in his heart? At most a mild one. Somehow, Woojin feels the same as what Jihoon has said in the interview. He is thankful of what has happened. Now that he has Donghyun next to him, enjoying an ordinary life here — something he always desires, and also something that Jihoon does not want; even if he chose to stay at that time, their ending may still be equally miserable.

“Why are you… staring at me?” asks Donghyun with a beam.

“I was just… spacing out,” Woojin returns the smile as he puts down his phone.

“Oh, almost forgot to tell you,” Donghyun nudges Woojin again, “I was trying to get the new banner for our shop this morning, but apparently the printing shop miss out an O on your name. So it becomes _Wojin’s kimbap_ rather than _Woojin’s kimbap_ , haha.”

“That’s… comedically stupid,” Woojin turns his focus back to the cucumber on the chopping board. “Did they tell you when will the correct one be ready?”

“Next week?” Donghyun hastens to give a definite answer. “Anyway, have you read the news? should you congratulate your friend?”

“…Jihoon?”

“Yeah, It’s all over Naver.”

Woojin picks up his phone again, and what he is searching for is indeed all over the news.

_Park Jihoon launches personal make-up school and brand, Timing._

Timing.

It really is about timing, Woojin thinks, or to be more precise, fate. Perhaps love really is nothing more than meeting the right person at the right time.

“I was just thinking,” Woojin puts down his phone again, “if the banner is not ready by now, maybe I should take this opportunity and change the name.”

“To what though?”

“Mmm…, what about _Woojin and Donghyun’s kimbap?_ ”

“Ha,” Donghyun shrugs his shoulder, even though his lips are still curving upwards, “Your tongue is always silvery smooth.”

“I’m serious.”

“Okay, up to you,” Donghyun rolls his eyes with a smile, “but why does your serious ass want to include my name for your shop?”

“Timing. I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I'm ready for the stones to be thrown at.
> 
> Will definitely beta tomorrow [and insert my own comments & afterwords regarding the journey of writing this fic and how I feel right now with my 3rd fic completed hahhahhh] but now I guess I have to get some sleep first T.T
> 
> Once again, Thank you for reading and your tolerance^^  
> Hope I can see you in my next fic ^^

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, feel free to bombard me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sleepyytimee) (even though I guess the comment section shares the same function hahahaha) Not much on my account though, just rants about work and how I'm narcissistically proud of my time management.


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